Dandy Jim and the Roulette Wheel
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart and Bret Maverick head to Grand Junction, Colorado just for a change of luck. As soon as they arrive they witness Dandy Jim Buckley being physically thrown out of the Golden Slipper Saloon. Dandy then provides them with the biggest change in luck they've had in quite a while.
1. How We Got Here

Chapter 1 – How We Got Here

We'd just walked into the Golden Slipper saloon in Grand Junction, Colorado when the place seemed to explode. 'We' consisted of me, Bart Maverick, and my brother Bret. He was older than me (barely) and taller than me (barely) and heavier than me (not so barely). Yes, our last name really is Maverick – we're distant relatives of Samuel Maverick of Texas.

We're also brilliant gamblers (maybe brilliant is a little strong) and all-around ne'er-do-wells. At least according to most people – but then, we're not most people. We are professional poker players and have been our entire lives. And an even rarer breed than that – we're honest poker players. Which is why we win sometimes, and we lose sometimes. Bret had just come off a big losing streak and I wasn't doing much better, so we were hoping that a change of scenery would benefit us both. That's why we headed almost due west from Colorado Springs until we got to Grand Junction. We hadn't counted on what we confronted gettin' there. Apache Indians, a prairie fire, a lost wagon train, Cheyenne Indians, a stage coach hold up, and three straight days of rain.

By the time we got to the Golden Slipper we were plumb worn-out. The hotel attached to the saloon was booked full up; as of right now we had nowhere to sleep for the night. "Let's go see if I can start winnin' again," Brother Bret suggested, so we decided to spend the night playing poker rather than sleeping. It seemed logical at the time.

As I said before, we'd just walked into the saloon and hadn't even had time to get the dust off our boots when a familiar figure in a most unfamiliar pose went past us. Dandy Jim Buckley, a good friend of mine and a semi-mortal enemy of Bret's, was being unceremoniously thrown out of the place. Actually at that moment he was being carried out of the saloon, since neither of his feet was touching the ground. He was being held aloft by two VERY substantial men of the 'Oh no you don't in my saloon' variety, and when they got to the batwing doors they simply heaved him into the street.

Unfortunately, the ground here in Grand Junction was dry, so when Jim hit it a rather large cloud of dust and dirt were the only things that attached themselves to him. From head to foot, I might add. Even his scrupulously polished boots were dulled by the dusty street that wrapped him in its arms. Of course, as soon as Jim was outside the saloon no longer sounded like a mine field going up in flames.

I half expected Dandy to sputter and spit and run back in, ranting and raving. Instead he did a most un-Dandylike thing – he sat on his bottom in the middle of the street, quiet as a church mouse. I looked at Bret and he just shook his head 'no.' Which, of course, meant that I had to go retrieve Buckley by myself. At least it wouldn't hurt anything – after three solid days of rain we'd been soaked to the skin and thoroughly splattered with mud – and I couldn't get much filthier by digging Jim out of the dirt.

I approached him from behind and tried my best to lift him into a standing position. Without turning his head to see who it was trying to pick him up, he commanded in that voice of his, "Put me down, you scoundrel." I obliged him and although he didn't fall far, he fell hard. That's when he finally turned his head and saw that it was me, and a look of astonishment crossed his face. "Bart, old man! Why didn't you say something?"

"Get up out of the street, Dandy. You sittin' in the dirt is almost an obscenity."

He rose then, slowly, as if every bone in his body hurt. It probably did. He looked at me with glee on his face and asked hopefully, "Here all by yourself?"

There it was again, that animosity between Jim and Bret. It had been in existence for so long that I couldn't remember when or how it started. It's a shame, too, because they really do have a lot in common – they're both bright, witty, handsome men, and they have the same great friend – me. No matter how splendidly things are going, they can't be civil to each other for more than fifteen minutes. After that I'm usually forced into being the referee. Of course, it doesn't help that Brother Bret has his own set of morals, and Dandy Jim wouldn't know a moral unless it was something to eat.

"Sorry, Jim, Bret's inside. But he knows you're here."

"Oh." Buckley's face fell. Then he thought of something and brightened up again. "Say, your brother is a rather big brute of a man, isn't he?"

Now, those are not the words that I'd use to describe Bret. True, he is tall and solid, but 'big brute' is not an accurate label. "Why, Dandy, what did ya have in mind? And why'd you get thrown out of the saloon, anyway?"

Once he stood up and realized how absolutely filthy he was, he began to brush dirt and dust off of himself. Since I was standing right next to him . . . but I didn't mind. Like I said before, Bret and me were both rain-drenched and mud-soaked through and through. I looked at Jim's pride and joy, his normally highly-polished boots, and knew they were in desperate need of some serious attention. The kind they couldn't get by being simply dusted off. Since he was so fastidiously put together before he got thrown into the street, it meant he probably had the rarest of commodities . . . a hotel room.

"I was ejected from the so-called establishment because I pointed out to them that their roulette wheel was incorrectly balanced and they were cheating their clientele. Myself among them. The manager imparted to me that if I persisted in my accusations, I could be 'made to disappear' from Grand Junction. Without too much trouble. I protested but was instructed to leave, and when I refused to do so, I was 'put out' like the proverbial cat. As to what I had in mind . . . retribution of some sort, of course."

Oh, Lord, sounded like we'd just gone from the frying pan into the fire. And I did mean we, because no matter what Buckley said or did, Bret would lend whatever help was needed . . . as long as it was me that needed it. "I wouldn't suggest goin' back inside just now, Jim. Disappearing might be in your immediate future if you did. Do you have a hotel room where all three of us might get cleaned up? Then we could discuss plans for retribution while we eat . . ."

"Bret would never tolerate a reasonable discussion if I was involved."

After the trip we'd had . . . with no place to sleep and empty bellies – "You'd be surprised what Bret would and wouldn't tolerate."

I could see that Dandy was weighin' the pros and cons. Bret must have come out on the plus side of the equation, because Jim nodded. "I do have a room, a suite actually, and it possesses its own bathtub. It would no doubt take a great length of time to accomplish, but we could manage to get . . . ahem . . . clean and respectable. I'm willing to endure your brother if he's willing to accept me . . . without violence, mind you."

I sighed, a great shuddering sound. "Alright. I'll go get Bret and bring him out. You stay out here where you're safe."

"Really, Bart, how did you ever acquire a brother like that?"

Maybe the better question was how did Bret ever acquire a brother like me?


	2. Suckered In

Chapter 2 – Suckered In

"Let me say that again, just in case you didn't hear it the first time – NO." Of course that was Bret's answer to my proposal, but he wasn't seeing the whole picture clearly.

"Bret – pay attention. Dandy has a hotel room. Not just a hotel room, a suite . . . with a bathtub. As in we could get clean and change clothes. And if it's a suite it has a sitting room, which means it probably has a settee or two. Which means we'd have somewhere to sleep. And all we have to do is listen to Dandy weave one of his intricate webs of deceit. Bath. Clean. Bed. What more could you ask for?"

Bret smiled, a wicked little grin. "No Dandy Jim Buckley?"

I shook my head. "Not possible. Be reasonable, would ya? I'm dirty and tired and hungry. I'm sure you're the same. We can solve those problems with just a little tolerance of one of our fellow poker players."

"Bartley – this is not one of our fellow poker players. This is Dandy Jim Buckley. THE Dandy Jim Buckley. Liar, cheat, con man, gambler. Remember, England threw him out."

I was still shakin' my head. "England had nothin' to do with Dandy comin' here. You know it was his own choice."

"If you wanna call bein' chased out of the country by your own Pappy a choice. Probably with a pistol, too."

I was losing the battle, but not the war. "Bath. Clean. Bed." I hoped I didn't have to keep repeating those three words, but I would if it was necessary. Until one of us either fell asleep or collapsed from the weight of the dirty clothes we had on.

Bret sighed. Something was getting to him; whether it was my persistence or the thought of sleep didn't matter, as long as he caved in eventually. He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, "I wonder if this is what Momma had in mind when she told me to take care of you?" He waited just a few seconds before he said, "Alright. But if Dandy gets crazy I'm not stayin' there."

"I won't let him, I promise. C'mon, he's still outside."

With great reluctance Bret followed me, and wonder of wonders, Buckley was just where I'd left him. He couldn't help but grin when he saw big brother. "Maverick," he acknowledged.

"Buckley," Bret replied. "Let's see this hotel suite."

For once, Jim didn't answer back with a remark of his own. And the look on his face was somewhere between amusement and outright terror; whether the expression was due to Bret's presence or the threat of being made to 'disappear' I don't know, and I didn't care. I wanted both of them on their best behavior until I was clean, fed and rested. After that I'd deal with the consequences.

Jim did, indeed, have a suite at the Golden Slipper Hotel. And what a glorious suite it was, with not one but two full-size settees, a deliciously big bathtub, and enough space for three grown men to wander around in. Jim got the first bath; after all, it was his room. Bret and me cut the cards for the second bath and I won, but I let my brother go ahead of me just to keep him happy. It must have worked, at least for a while, because the sour expression that had been on his face since he first saw Jim bein' thrown out of the saloon disappeared and he was the brother I'd grown up with.

Thirty minutes later Dandy Jim was dressed and it was Bret's turn in the tub. At least Dandy was in clean clothes, but his boots were still a mess. "Gonna hafta polish those," I told him.

"Who, me?"

"They ain't gonna clean themselves," I reminded him.

"But I always have the boot black downstairs do that," he protested.

"At midnight?"

He looked taken aback. "I'm guessing the answer is no?"

"Very perceptive, Dandy."

"I can't very well wear them like this, Bart."

I sighed. There were times Dandy even got on my last nerve. "Get me your washbowl and a towel." I'd rather turn my boots over to the boot black, too, but you better know how to take care of your own. I wasn't gonna polish those suckers of his, but at least I could clean 'em up a little. If Dandy was in a state about dirt on his boots he'd be unbearable – and Bret would probably kill him.

By the time my brother was finished, Jim's boots were once more respectable looking. Not perfect, but a whole lot better than before. Then it was my turn in the bath, and I didn't take half the time Jim did. Clean clothes felt wonderful after the mud-caked ones I had on, and by the time I re-emerged in the sitting room I was surprised to find my friend and my brother clinging to their neutral corners in preparation for the next round. Actually everything was very quiet, and I wondered if a truce had been called. I didn't give either of them time to get started. "Are we ready to find a café?"

"Yes," Jim answered.

"Yep," came back from Bret.

We stopped at the front desk and I found out there was an all-night café right across the street – Lanie's. We hurried over and wasted no time ordering; evidently Jim was as hungry as we were. He even drank coffee with us, having become Americanized when it came to his choice of beverage. Before the food arrived, I attempted to get the full story of his ejection from the saloon.

"I was minding my own business at the roulette wheel when I noticed something was wrong. It was out of balance, but by such a small amount it would take a trained eye to notice it."

"Or somebody who knows how to rig a roulette wheel." Of course, that was from Bret.

Dandy chose to ignore the remark and continued. "I notified the croupier and he pretended not to hear me. So I notified him just a little louder, but he persisted in ignoring me. That's when I found the floor manager, and it escalated until the man was positively belligerent. He told me to get out, and when I wouldn't, he threatened me with permanent disappearance and had me removed."

"Is that all?" I asked innocently.

"Is that all? The man threatened my life. I take that seriously."

"There's a real simple solution to this, Buckley," and for once I thought Bret was actually gonna offer something that might help.

"And what would that be, Maverick?"

"Find someplace else to gamble. Or quit playin' roulette."

Jim turned to me. "Honestly, is this what you have to put up with?"

"Nope," I answered truthfully. "Just when you're around. What about the saloon manager? Or the owner, if that fails?"

That's when Bret finally got interested. "What if they're all crooked?"

"That's when we take your advice and find someplace else to gamble," I reminded him.

"Unacceptable," Jim interjected. "That means there are poor unsuspecting souls out there who don't stand a chance."

That remark made even me skeptical. "Since when do you care about anybody other than James Buckley?"

"Well, I . . . I never said I did. But they threatened me, Bart. They threatened to kill me. What would that make you want to do?"

I hated to admit it; he had a point. But what I wanted to do and what I would do are two different things, and this wasn't even my fight. "Dandy . . . "

That's when the unexpected happened. Bret spoke up. "I hate like hell to admit it, Bart, but Buckley's right. If the roulette wheel's rigged, the whole place is rigged. Somethin' needs to be done. Even if it's only a visit to the marshal." Bret grinned at me. "And close your mouth. You look kinda stupid with it hangin' open like that."

I did just what big brother told me to do. "Alright then. Let's start with the marshal and see where we get." Not very far, as we were soon to find out.


	3. Mr Moral Sopport

Chapter 3 – Mr. Moral Support

Of course, I persuaded Dandy that we should wait until morning to see the marshal. I couldn't keep my eyes open, and it didn't look like Bret was too far behind me. Dandy, in a magnanimous gesture that will probably never be repeated, took pity on us and offered us the bed. Bret looked stunned for about half a second and then said, "Thanks, Buckley," and wasted no time heading for the bedroom.

"What about you?" I asked.

"Oh, I'll just sleep on one of the settees. I used to do that all the time before I left home."

"Why?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"You see, to get to my bedroom I had to go past father's room. The Baron was a light sleeper, particularly when I'd gone out for the evening. So, to avoid waking him and having all my faults enumerated ad infinitum, I slept downstairs. Problem solved."

"Of course." That was enough for me, and I followed my brother's path into the bedroom. By the time I was in appropriate nightwear, Bret was snoring for all he was worth. I was so tired nothing was gonna keep me awake, and in just a few minutes I had joined him in slumber.

Sometime the next morning I heard a persistent "Psst" and opened my eyes to find Dandy standing in the doorway to the bedroom, completely dressed and doing his best to wake me without waking my brother. I stared at him and groaned before forcing myself out of bed. Grabbing him by the elbow, I drug him out into the sitting room. "What time is it?" I whispered.

He pulled away from my grasp and glared at me. "There's no need to manhandle me, Bart. It's almost nine o'clock. Are you intent on sleeping all day?"

"Yes," I answered, and headed back towards the bed.

"But you promised we could go see the marshal this morning."

I turned my head back towards Dandy as I kept walking and told him, "Mornings still got a long way to go, Jim."

"Bart . . . is that the thanks I get for giving you my bed last night?"

Guilt. Works on me every time. I stopped walking and turned around once again. "Give me five minutes to get dressed."

"What about your brother?"

"If you want to live you'll let him sleep."

Jim knew enough to take me seriously. "Five minutes. And hurry."

In a little under ten minutes we were downstairs in the dining room having breakfast and coffee. Only because I insisted I was going nowhere without coffee, and once we sat down Buckley decided he was hungry.

Surprisingly, Jim can put away almost as much food as Bret, and he too tends to remain on the slim side. He was in the middle of a mouthful of eggs when I asked my question. "What are you gonna tell the marshal?"

"Don't you mean what are we going to tell the marshal?"

I took another swallow of coffee and shook my head. "No, I mean what are you gonna tell the marshal?"

"But Bart . . . "

"This ain't my fight, Jim. You're the one with the complaint."

"It would carry more weight with the law if I wasn't the only one complaining."

I sighed. He had a point, but then again, how much attention was a marshal gonna pay to two gamblers? Or even three, for that matter?

"I'll do my best to support ya, Dandy. I can't promise no more."

"That's good enough, old boy."

The marshal's office was a good distance, almost to the other end of town, and it took a few minutes to arrive. I sent Dandy in ahead of me and let him do the talking.

"Marshal?"

The man behind the desk looked up and gave us the once over. He was a little on the heavy side, maybe thirty-five or forty, with a dark mustache and sun-bleached blonde hair. He looked friendly enough, but you can never tell when it comes to John Law. I ought to know; I've had first-hand experience with too many of them.

"Decker. Cory Decker. And you are . . .?"

"I am James Aloysius Buckley, my good man. And this is Bart Maverick. We are here to discuss with you the Golden Slipper Saloon; particularly one of its roulette wheels."

The expression on Marshal Decker's face changed as soon as he realized he had gamblers in his office, most likely to complain about something or other. "And what about the wheel?"

"It is out of balance, thus giving a distinct advantage to the house."

"And how do you know this, Mr. Buckley?"

I thought it appropriate to inject a remark. "Mr. Buckley is something of an expert on roulette wheels, marshal."

The marshal eyed both of us, one after the other, and gave no indication that he was gonna take us seriously. "I'll just bet both of you are."

"Oh, no, sir," I protested. "I never indulge in the game myself. That is strictly Mr. Buckley's field of expertise. Among others, I assure you." I almost giggled like a schoolgirl. Field of expertise, my foot. What I meant was that Dandy Jim Buckley, con man extraordinaire, knew every trick in the book on how to cheat on or with a roulette wheel.

"And just what do you expect me to do about it?" Marshal Decker was no longer looking at us, he was busily cleaning his gun.

"Why, go insist that it be repaired."

"If you think its outta balance, why don't you do that?" Just as I expected, we were gonna get absolutely nowhere with the marshal.

"I did, Marshal Decker. I did indeed, and they refused to give any credence to my complaints."

"You the one they threw out last night?" was Decker's next question.

"I don't see that to be relevant, marshal." Dandy's tone was beginning to take on that haughty bent that it usually had when he was talkin' to Bret. I tried to diffuse the situation.

"He is, marshal, but only because the saloon management refused to take his observation seriously, and insisted on ignorin' him. They even intimated they'd 'make him disappear' if he didn't quit expressin' his opinion. A threat to do great bodily harm."

"Uh-huh. And did you hear this threat?"

"Well, uh, no, marshal, my brother and I had just entered the saloon as Mr. Buckley was being escorted out."

"So why are you here, if you didn't see or hear the exchange?"

"Uh . . . moral support?" A weak answer, but the only one I had at the moment.

Decker finally looked up from his gun. "Get outta here, Buckley, before I throw you out. And take Mr. Moral Support with you. If you got a complaint about the Golden Slipper Saloon, you take it to them and leave me out of it."

"You were a lot of help, Bart," Jim chastised me once we got back outside.

"I didn't promise to lie for you, Dandy."

"No, you didn't, but it wouldn't have killed you."

He pulled out his elegant gold pocket watch and checked the time. "Ten thirty. Do you suppose Big Brother is up yet?"

Before I gave him an answer, I began to take stock of all the expensive things that didn't add up. The fancy new clothes. The 'suite' at the hotel. The gold pocket watch. "You found a gold mine you haven't told me about, Jim? Or did you just swindle some rich old lady out of her life's savings?"

He ignored my questions completely, which meant I'd gotten too close for comfort to the truth. "Will your brother be up or not?"

"I honestly don't know, Dandy. But I think we can risk waking him if he's not."

Jim didn't speak to me on the way back to the hotel. When we were almost there Bret walked out of Lanie's, lookin' like a happy man. Until he looked up the street and saw us. Even from this distance, I could see him heave a rather large sigh, then attempt to smile. At me.

He stopped and waited for us, which took a lot of effort on his part. "Nothin' goin' with the marshal, huh?"

"I have a new name," I told him.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"Mr. Moral Support."

Bret attempted to keep from laughing, but he wasn't real successful. "Well, come on, Mr. Moral Support. Let's escort Mr. Buckley upstairs and figure out the next step. And Jim, do somethin' about those boots. They look awful."


	4. Rigged

Chapter 4 – Rigged

Dandy had plenty of suggestions, all of which Bret vetoed. When I couldn't stand hearin' any more of "No, that won't work," I finally spoke up.

"Look, Jim, you're makin' this too complicated. Let me go in and play the same wheel and see if I can spot the imbalance."

"You don't play roulette, Bart."

"No, but I've run enough games to know when there's somethin' wrong."

"Then what?" Dandy asked.

"I don't know yet. We can decide afterwards."

"Like we decided this?" Bret had to throw that in, tryin' to get a rise out of Dandy, I assume. But then he continued. "That's probably not a bad idea, Bart. Don't raise a fuss, just play for a while and see what you can find out."

"I need money, Dandy." I knew that was gonna get Dandy's ire up, but my poke was small enough that I wasn't willing to risk what little I had left. Surprisingly, Dandy agreed and pulled out his wallet. It was practically stuffed. I was sure that he'd pulled some kind of nefarious scheme to get his hands on that much money.

"Here's three hundred. Is that enough?"

"Sure." When I dressed this morning I'd put on a black shirt and pants and my buckskin jacket; I wanted to look more like a ranch hand or saddle bum than a professional. I grabbed my hat and headed for the door.

"Hold up, son. I'm goin' with you."

"Why?" I asked Bret. "I don't need no bodyguard."

"Just as an observer." He got closer to me and asked quietly, "You don't expect me to sit here with Buckley, do you?"

"Good point. Which roulette wheel was it, Jim?"

Dandy didn't hesitate. "The big one, all the way in the back. It's off less than an eighth of an inch, tilted towards the north."

I nodded. "We'll be back. Stay here."

Bret and me left and walked down the hall to the stairs. "Why did you decide to help?" I asked him. "I know you barely tolerate Buckley."

"That ain't important. If this place is really crooked . . . you know how I feel about that."

"Yeah, but there's still Buckley."

"You wanted to do something. God only knows why, but you did. And you're my brother."

"Even if it helps Buckley?"

"I refuse to accept responsibility for that outcome."

I chuckled as we split up; I walked straight to the back of the saloon and Bret disappeared somewhere. It was easy to locate the wheel Dandy was referring to, and I was surprised to find so many men crowded around it at this time of day. I stood and watched for five or ten minutes but I needed to get closer to the wheel, and the only way to do that was to start betting. As soon as I laid down money space opened up for me at the roulette table, and I was better able to see the wheel. It took several spins before I caught it, but Jim was absolutely right – the thing was out of balance such a small amount that nobody but a professional like Dandy would ever notice it. I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't been lookin' for it.

Five minutes later I walked away from the roulette wheel and went searchin' for Bret. He was at a poker table with three other men and a dealer, and I made eye contact and walked outside. I lit a cigar and propped my foot up on one of the lower railings in front of the hotel and waited. It was a full fifteen minutes before he came out, looking about as grim as I'd ever seen him. "Problem?" I questioned.

"Good thing we didn't try to play poker last night."

"Crooked dealer?"

He nodded. "At that table. Every trick you can imagine. What about you?"

"Buckley was right," I told him. "The wheel is out of balance so minutely I'm surprised I could see it."

Bret sighed, and I knew what he was thinkin'. "Buckley's gonna be impossible to live with."

"Until we figure out what comes next."

"Can't we just . . . " Bret whined. I knew what he wanted to do – pack up and leave Grand Junction without getting any further involved. Only twice before had I ever heard him use that tone of voice, and both times it had to do with Buckley.

"No. You agreed to help; we can't back out now. Let's go tell Jim."

Bret muttered something unintelligible but followed me back into the hotel and up to Buckley's room. Jim answered my knock and the first thing I noticed was his clean, shiny boots. Good thing Dandy had his priorities in order.

Soon as we got in the room, Buckley looked from me to Bret and back to me. "Well?"

"You were right, Dandy. It's out of balance. Deliberately out of balance, I'm sure." Bret had gone to sit on one of the settees. "Bret says the poker tables appear to be rigged, too."

Jim got the biggest smile on his face, like the kid at the candy counter that was just given a handful of licorice. "Let's go find the owner. Maybe we can get in on his operation."

I heard Bret snicker. "You are such a crook, Buckley. If we find the owner it ain't gonna be to muscle in on his cons."

Dandy's face fell. "No?"

"No," I told him. "Places like this are the reason gamblers get looked at sideways, like the way the marshal looked at us this mornin'. People think we're all cheats."

"We're not?" Buckley saw the look on my face and changed his tune. "I mean, we're not."

Even I winced at that one. I'd pulled enough cons in my time, mostly petty stuff that didn't amount to much. Bret and I had even run one or two big ones when we were desperate, but nothin' like the operation at the Golden Slipper. And considerin' the way we both felt about jail, we weren't about to start now.

"I'm not. My brother Bart's not. You, Buckley . . . jury's still out on you." I had to agree with Bret. Especially given my current suspicions about the state of Buckley's new-found wealth.

"So what do we do now? Whether you have any regard for me or not, the Golden Slipper is cheating innocent, unsuspecting people." Dandy turned and spoke directly to Bret. "And I know you, Maverick. This isn't something you can ignore."

Brother Bret responded quickly, much to my surprise. And there was no trace of anger, or hostility, or even denial in his voice. "For once Buckley, I agree with you completely."


	5. Deeper and Deeper

Chapter 5 – Deeper and Deeper

Three hours later me and Buckley were sittin' in Lanie's havin' lunch. Bret was off somewhere on his own, 'ruminatin' as he called it. Which is exactly what Pappy would have said. He'd eaten later than Jim and wasn't hungry; I'd just had coffee and was starved.

"Your brother was terribly quiet, old boy," Jim stated unnecessarily between bites.

"He gets that way when he's thinkin'," I explained.

"He gets that way when he's around me."

"Can you blame him? You two bring out the worst in each other. The less he says, the less you have to aggravate him about."

Dandy sighed. "There's a reason I aggravate him. An excellent reason."

"You mean somethin' more than you just enjoy the hell out of it?"

"Yes."

I should have known better than to expect Jim to volunteer anything further. He wanted to hear all the gossip, but he was the last person to provide any. "What's the reason, Jim? Why do you try to drive Bret crazy? And not me?"

"I can't do that to you, Bart. You're my friend."

"I notice you didn't answer my first question."

Buckley put down his fork and gave me a sick little grin. "You remember I have an older brother?"

I nodded. "Sure do. Raymond or Robert or Richmond or . . . "

"Rupert. His name is Rupert."

"Oh, yeah. So what has your brother got to do with mine?"

"Nothing. Everything. They're older and smug. They do everything they can to please their father. They are nothing if not the proverbial pain."

"Dandy . . . "

"Don't tell me Bret isn't like that, because he most certainly is."

"Sometimes," I admitted. "But I wouldn't trade him for anything or anybody. And I wish you'd try a little harder to get along with him."

"But he's so . . . "

"Bret." That said it all. Bret was . . . Bret. There was no one else like him. And I was lucky enough to have him as my brother. But there were still times even I wanted to . . .

"Speaking of your brother . . . "

I looked up to see Bret walking through the door to Lanie's, headed right for our table. He dropped into an empty chair and turned his coffee cup over just in time to have it filled. After the little lady with the coffee left, he looked at Buckley with a benign expression, almost like he'd been drinking. If I didn't know better – but that was out of the question. Even as much as Jim got on his nerves.

"Make any significant discoveries?" It was another smart remark from Buckley, but Bret ignored the tone and answered the question.

"I did, as a matter of fact. I found out that the saloon manager's name is Brad Shaw, and the place is owned by J. Shaw."

"J. Shaw? No first name?" I asked.

"Not that anybody knows. And nobody seems to know just who or what this J. Shaw is."

"What good will any of that do us?" Buckley just didn't seem able or willing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"None. Not a damn bit." Bret suddenly stood as if to leave, but I grabbed his arm before he could go. He looked at me like only Bret can look at me, and I pleaded silently, giving him my best 'puppy dog eyes' in return. He hesitated for a moment before sitting back down. "What would it take for you to keep your mouth shut for five minutes, Buckley?"

I turned my attention to Jim. "Why don't you try that for a while, Dandy? We rode in here last night with no intention of gettin' involved in anything like this. We can ride back out just as easily and let you get yourself killed without any trouble at all. Or you can settle down and be civil."

I must have startled Buckley. He usually heard me as the referee between two warring factions, and he wasn't expecting the hushed, stern tone I'd just used. He looked about as chagrined as he was capable of for several seconds before he spoke in a subdued tone of his own.

"Understood. Proceed."

It took a minute for Bret to start again. "Brad Shaw keeps an office down the street, separate from the saloon. It wouldn't hurt to go see him. Maybe he doesn't know what's goin' on."

Dandy made a 'hmph' sound but said nothing. "Not a bad idea," I remarked. "But I think only one of us should go. And I think it should be you, Jim, since you're the one that got thrown out for complaining, and you're the only one they can identify at the moment. Seems logical you'd take your complaints to the next level."

"I don't like the idea, but I agree with it." At last, a reasonable response.

"I'm goin' to find the office. Stay here until I come back." This time Bret stood and was out the door before I could say anything.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Buckley asked.

"For behaving."

"You made it very clear that I had to."

I shook my head. Dandy was never gonna change, no matter what anybody said or did, and I should know that by now. We sat in silence inside the café for almost twenty minutes before Bret returned.

"Better hold off for a while. He's got some kind of a meeting goin' on. Bart, let's go see if we can get a room of our own at the hotel."

"What should I do?" Jim asked.

"Drink coffee. Go for a walk. Go buy something. I don't care."

I shrugged my shoulders and followed Bret back to the hotel. There was a room available and we took it. Jim had given me a spare key, so we went to his suite and moved our belongings to the new room. Quite a difference between our accommodations and his, but we'd been in far worse. After we were settled in I returned to the suite to wait for Buckley.

Almost an hour passed and there was no sign of him. Bret eventually joined me and we sat for a while longer before I finally got up and started for the door. "Where you goin'?"

"Where do you think? I'm goin' after Dandy."

"Be careful. We don't know what we've gotten involved in."

I gave Bret my best 'I promise I'll try' grin and nodded. "Will do, Pappy."

I headed off before big brother could say anything else. Honestly, sometimes he worries too much. But not in this case, as I was soon to discover.


	6. The World Turned Upside Down

Chapter 6 – The World Upside Down

I strolled down the boardwalk, right past the office of 'Bradley Shaw, Manager, Golden Slipper Saloon,' but there was no one visible through the large front window. I wasn't quite sure where to go next and was just about to enter when I spotted the missing Buckley, casually leaving the barbershop on the other side of the street. I kept walking and waited until Jim reached me, then pulled him into the nearest alley. "Where the hell have you been?" I growled at him, since he looked none the worse for wear.

"At the barber's, of course, old boy. One must maintain one's appearance."

"Jim, you've been gone for over an hour."

Once more he pulled out that gold pocket watch and looked at. "I have, haven't I? Well, Shaw was still tied up in a meeting when I went down there, so I made use of the time. He should be free now. Care to go with me?"

I suddenly knew exactly how Bret must feel – I was standing in front of a man that I claimed as a friend, clenching and unclenching my fists just to keep from hitting him. When the urge to do great bodily harm had passed, I replied through gritted teeth, "No, Jim, remember we all decided you should go alone? I'm goin' back to your hotel room to wait for you. Please come straight back there as soon as you've seen Brad Shaw."

"Are you upset with me, Bart?"

God, he sounded pitiful. There it was again, my old friend guilt. I'd made Dandy feel . . . whatever it was Dandy was capable of feeling. "No, Dandy. I was just . . . concerned when you were gone so long. Come back when you're done, alright? So we can figure out what our next move is."

Buckley grinned at me. "Will do, old boy. Soon as I'm done." And with that, he turned and left me in the alley. I took the back way to the hotel and was soon facing the other combatant in this never-ending war of words.

"I was about to come after you. Where's his lordship?"

"It's a long story. He's just now goin' to see Shaw."

"Where's he been all this time? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"No, don't ask, please." By this time I had a headache and thought a nap might do me some good, so I headed for one of the settees. "Wake me when he gets here, would ya?"

Bret nodded, and I lay down. I fell asleep quickly and slept for more than an hour before I felt my brother's hand on my shoulder. "Bart, wake up."

"Huh? Jim's back?"

"No, that's why I woke you. He's been gone too long, even for Buckley."

I sat up; my headache had been replaced by a stiff neck. "I told him to come straight back. Are you sure it's been that long?"

"I'm sure."

I was off the settee in a minute; I grabbed my hat just as Bret grabbed his. "Where are you goin'?"

"With you. You told Buckley to come straight back; even he's not that stupid."

I hesitated, considering what Dandy had done earlier in the day. Then I decided Bret might be right. "Alright, let's go see what we can find out."

It took less than five minutes to get down to Shaw's office – it was locked up tight. There was no sign of Jim or anyone else, so we walked around back. Nobody there, either, but I saw somethin' in the dirt leading away from the back door. "Bret, look. See those drag marks?"

He nodded and bent down to take a closer look. "That's just what they are – drag marks. Like . . . "

"Like somebody drug a body away."

"Yeah. Let's go."

We set off down the alley and followed the marks until they disappeared, behind a row of buildings at the edge of town. There were trees and bushes and a lot of tall brush about twenty feet away, and we headed in that direction. When we got closer I thought I heard something and I stopped. "What?" Bret whispered.

"Listen. Don't you hear that?" I waded into the brush and fought my way a few more feet as the sound got louder. Bret was close behind me; he almost fell over me when I stopped dead in my tracks. It was definitely moaning, and what looked like a pile of clothes lay about ten feet ahead of me. And then I saw something familiar – Buckley's dirty and dusty boots.

We both ran – because I was in front of Bret I got to Jim first. He was lying face down in the dirt, and every few minutes a pathetic sound drifted up towards us. His beautiful blue coat was torn and muddy, and I reached down to turn him over and was shocked by the look of the man I called friend. His eyes were closed, and he'd been hit in and around them multiple times; they were rapidly blackening. His lips were cut and bleeding; the rest of his face was bruised and battered. His shirt and vest were ripped and there were large splatters of blood down the front of them. If it weren't for the moans I wouldn't have known if he was alive or dead. I glanced up at Bret, and he was already stooping to lift Dandy's feet.

Bret had seen a doctor's office when he was out 'ruminating' earlier in the day, and that's where we carried Jim now. There was nobody in the waiting room and I started yellin' soon as we got in the door. A tall man of perhaps forty-five came running out front and directed us into the back room. "What happened?" was the first thing out of his mouth, followed shortly by a "Dear God" when he got a good look at the man we'd carried in.

"I'd say somebody tried to beat him to death," Bret answered the doctor.

"Who would do a thing like that?"

"I don't know, Doc, but I'm sure as hell gonna find out." I felt miserable, and guilty as sin for the way I'd lectured Dandy earlier. I know what it feels like to be beaten that badly, and so does Bret. "Jim, can you hear me?"

There was no answer, and the doctor quickly felt for a pulse. "He's alive. Do you know who he is?"

Bret answered without hesitation. "He's a friend. My name's Bret Maverick, this is my brother Bart. His name is . . . Jim Buckley. We found him like this."

"Alright, I need the two of you to leave so I can treat this poor fellow. I'm Doctor Varner, by the way." Bret obeyed the doctor and headed back up front; I didn't move. "You too, Mr. Maverick."

I shook my head slightly. "Nope, Doc. I ain't goin' nowhere. Just in case he wakes up."

I expected an argument from the doctor; I didn't get one. "Then help me get these clothes off him."

Between the two of us we got Jim out of what remained of his coat, then the doctor cut away the tattered and bloody shirt and vest. The patient never made a sound. "Hang on, Jim. Just hang on."

Varner then went about his work. He cleaned and examined and stitched and wrapped until the body on the exam table began to look like Jim Buckley again – a bruised and battered Jim Buckley. Right now nobody could call him Dandy. It took more than an hour, and I stayed there the entire time. When the doctor was finished the smallest, most elegant groan escaped from the injured man. His eyes were still closed, but I knew he was awake. I reached out and squeezed his right hand, and through swollen lips he very faintly murmured, "Bart."

"I'm here, Jim. Don't try to talk. I ain't goin' nowhere."

"They tried . . . they tried . . . dis . . . disapp . . . "

"They tried to make you disappear?"

"Yes." He was struggling to open his eyes. The doctor saw his effort and did his best to discourage it.

"Leave your eyes closed for the time being, Mr. Buckley. I'm Doctor Varner, and I think that would be best for now. They need some time to recover."

"Look . . . bad?" Only Dandy would ask that question.

"You've looked prettier." He tried to move and I leaned in closer. "I'd lie still if I were you. You ain't goin' nowhere for a while."

"Br . . . Bret?"

"He's out front. We found you and carried you to Doc Varner's office."

"Oh." A big sigh accompanied that one word, and Jim drifted into sleep or unconsciousness; I wasn't sure which.

"Doc?"

"He's asleep, Mr. Maverick. I gave him enough laudanum to put him out for a good long while. You'll have to leave him here overnight."

"I figured as much. I'll be back to stay with him later." Dandy had let go of my hand and, for the moment at least, seemed peaceful. "They beat him pretty bad, didn't they?"

"It could have been worse. Do you have any idea who's responsible?"

"No," I lied. I moved away from the exam table and picked up what was left of Jim's coat. His wallet was still in the inside pocket, but it was flat as a pancake. In addition, the gold watch was gone from his vest. Brad Shaw's men, I assumed. They'd done a good number on him, both physically and monetarily. We'd tried to help before, but I couldn't forget that it was me that sent him, alone and unprotected, into that office.

"How late will you be here, Doc?"

"Oh, I won't leave him alone tonight. I've got a cot in my office; I'll be here all night."

"I'll be back by ten o'clock. Don't let on to anybody that he's here, would ya? In case whoever did it comes lookin' for him."

"You need to report this to Marshal Decker, Mr. Maverick."

I wasn't gonna argue with the doctor, but right now the last person I wanted to talk to was Decker. "Sure, Doc, I'll do that. Remember, I'll be back by ten. And thanks."

I picked up what was left of Jim's clothes and went back to the waiting room. Bret wasn't there, but I could see him outside smoking a cigar. "How is he?"

"Pretty bad. Doc did what he could, and Jim was awake for a couple minutes. He said they tried to make him disappear. And they got his money and his gold watch."

"Did he say who it was?"

"Did he have to?"

Bret looked at me and threw the remainder of the cigar into the street. "No, not really. What do you wanna do?"

"Right now? Go back to the hotel and get him checked out of that suite. Let's hope he paid far enough in advance that he's got some money comin' back. Then . . . I don't know. I told Doc Varner I'd be back by ten o'clock."

"You spendin' the night?"

"I am, and so's Doc."

"You do that and I'll see if I can go make us some money." He sighed. "And Buckley, too, I guess."

"Is there another saloon close by?"

"Several," Bret replied, "but I ain't goin' to them. I'm gonna win it at Golden Slipper."

"Bret . . . "

"Just because the dealers are dishonest doesn't mean I have to be."

Sometimes my brother just amazes me. "Alright, let's get back to that hotel, Pappy."

He grinned at me, and it was the best thing I'd seen in a while. "We can do that, son."


	7. Hell or High Water

Chapter 7 – Hell or High Water

We got all of Dandy's belongings out of his suite and into our room. I thought I had a lot of clothes, but I've never seen anything like his closet in my life. It took us three times as long as I expected to get everything moved and both of us were tired when we finished. Then I went downstairs with Jim's keys and explained, "Mr. Buckley has taken ill and gone home. He's asked me to remove his belongings from the suite and see if there is a refund available."

"Oh, I hope it's nothing serious," the clerk replied. He checked the hotel ledgers and determined that Mr. Buckley did, indeed, have a refund coming. Two hundred and forty-seven dollars. Which I promptly pocketed and hurried back upstairs.

"God only knows what Jim was payin' for that room and how long he intended to stay, but here's enough to get you started." I gave Bret the two hundred forty-seven dollars, along with the two hundred I had left over from betting on the roulette wheel this morning. "By our standards you're rich."

Bret grinned, and he seemed genuinely pleased. "That's more than enough, with what I've still got in my pocket. You goin' to talk to the marshal?"

"Probably. I know I should, but I'm gonna play dumb like I did this morning. You headed for the saloon?"

"I am. Let's see how hard these dealers are to beat."

My turn to use his words. "Be careful."

"I will. You do the same."

"You know where I'll be – first the marshal's, then the doctor's."

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Bret . . . take 'em for all they're worth." And I didn't care how he did it.

"I'll do my best."

A few minutes later I was back in Marshal Decker's office. "Well, if it ain't Mr. Moral Support. Where's your friend?"

"At Doctor Varner's, lying on death's doorstep." Not true, but let the marshal think it was.

"What? What happened?" That practically catapulted Decker out of his chair. "Have a seat. Do you want some coffee?"

"Coffee would be good, marshal." Indeed it would. It was gettin' close to ten o'clock, and I hadn't eaten anything since lunch. Coffee would do just fine.

The marshal's attitude had changed completely. And he was no longer lookin' at me like I was some kind of deviant. After he handed me the cup he asked, "Say, what was your friend's name? Buckley?"

"That's right. James Buckley, and mine's Maverick. Bart Maverick."

"Were you with him? What happened?"

"I wasn't with him, no. He went to see Brad Shaw, as you'd advised him to do. When he was gone over two hours I went lookin' for him. There was nobody at Shaw's office, but there were some real obvious drag marks out back. I followed them to that field behind the buildings at the edge of town, and that's where I found Jim. Unconscious, beat to hell and half dead."

"Anything to indicate who did it? Did he say anything?"

"No, they were very thorough. They left no evidence of any kind, and Jim hasn't regained consciousness. Doesn't look like it'd be real hard to figure who did it, marshal. He went to Brad Shaw's office to complain about the roulette wheel at the Golden Slipper. After they'd warned him not to."

"Now, Mr. Maverick. You can't jump to a conclusion like that without any evidence. Was anything stolen from Mr. Buckley?"

I wasn't about to divulge the missing money. That would just give Decker an excuse to treat this like any other robbery. "Yes, his gold watch."

"Was that all?"

"That was all."

"Then it might have been a simple robbery."

"You don't try to beat somebody to death for just a gold watch, marshal. This was personal. And when he dies, it'll be murder." I phrased it that way deliberately.

"Did the Doctor say he was gonna die?" There was almost a note of panic in Decker's voice.

"He's not holdin' out much hope." That, of course, wasn't true. Bad as Dandy'd been beaten, there was no way it was gonna kill him. Of course, he'd have somethin' to whine about for weeks on end.

"And where are his belongings? I mean the clothes he had on when you found him."

"Back at my hotel room."

"I'd like to see them."

I wasn't goin' back to the hotel right now. "I'll bring them to you in the morning. I'd like to go spend what little time is left with Jim over at Doc Varner's."

"It's late. Doc's gone home by now."

"No, marshal, he's staying there tonight, in case he's needed. I told him I was coming back." I set the empty coffee cup down and had gotten up to leave.

"And you'll bring me his clothes in the morning?"

I nodded. "I will."

"Mr. Maverick . . . I'm sorry this happened."

"So am I, marshal, so am I."

I walked back down to Varner's office and found the door unlocked. I locked it behind me and went straight to the back room. Jim was still asleep, right where I'd left him earlier, and the doctor was sitting in a chair reading a medical book. He looked up as soon as he heard me. "I locked the front door, Doc."

"Good. He's been asleep the whole time you've been gone. His breathing's better, and his pulse is steadier. I'm going to my office to lie down. You come get me if you need anything, or if he wakes up."

"Will do, Doctor. Thanks for everything."

"Goodnight, Mr. Maverick."

"Good night, Doc."

I moved Doc's chair over to the exam table Jim was asleep on and took a good, long look at him before I sat down. Both eyes were now black, and the bruises on his face were quite pronounced. How his nose kept from bein' broken I'll never know, but it was as straight as it had been this morning, a fact that would please Dandy no end, I was sure. His lips were swollen, and there was a long scratch down the left side of his neck that I hadn't seen before. I finally sat and pulled my hat down over my eyes, then folded my hands in my lap and tried to sleep.

I kept thinking about all the places I'd gone with Dandy, and all the crazy stunts we'd pulled. Things had changed over the years; Bret and me had gotten even closer than we already were, and puttin' those two together was like bein' in the middle of another Civil War. One was enough, thank you, and it was easier to spend time with Bret when Jim wasn't around. Besides, I still held a little grudge for the fiasco Jim got me into up in Cheyenne. The card game that almost killed me, and cost me a fortune. I fell asleep at some point during the night and didn't wake up until the sound of my name jolted me out of unconsciousness.

I stood up and found Jim's eyes open, although truth be told they were nothin' more than little, tiny slits. "Hey, Dandy, how you feelin'?"

"Hurt . . . everywhere."

' _No kidding,'_ I thought. How could he not hurt everywhere? "Do you know who did this to you?"

"Shaw . . . Shaw's men. Two . . . of them."

"Were they in the saloon last night?"

"No. Big . . . bigger than . . . your brother."

"Bigger than Bret?" If that was true, we were dealin' with some very substantial men.

"Yes." He didn't say anything for more than a minute, but his eyes were still open. Finally, "My watch. Did . . . they get . . . ?"

"Yeah, your watch is gone. Along with all your money."

"Don't care . . . about . . . money. Watch is . . . import . . . import . . . "

"Important?"

"Yes. Grand . . . father's . . . I was . . . favorite."

"You were your Grandfather's favorite? Not Rupert?"

"No. Grand . . . father was a . . . scalawag."

' _No wonder you were his favorite,'_ was the first thing that went through my mind, but I didn't say it.

"Where . . . ?"

"You're in the doctor's office. His name's Varner; he's still here, asleep in the other room. He wanted me to wake him if you opened your eyes."

"Bret . . . here?"

"No. He had a job to do tonight."

"Job?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed at that one. "Yep, he's tryin' to win all your money back at the Golden Slipper."

"Bret?"

"Don't sound so skeptical. He even claimed you as a friend when Doc asked who you were."

"Bret . . . Maverick?"

"The one and only. He'll be here in the morning."

Dandy closed his eyes, and I thought he'd gone back to sleep. "You . . . sure . . . not dreaming?"

"I'm sure you're not dreaming. And I checked you out of your suite and got two hundred and forty-seven dollars back. I still had two hundred from what you gave me to play the wheel this morning. So with what Bret had, he had a pretty good stake to start out."

"My . . . clothes?"

"Moved 'em to our room. You've got more clothes than Bret and me combined."

"Of . . . course. I'm . . . Dandy, remember?" That was the last thing he said before he went back to sleep. I saw no sense in disturbin' the Doc; Dandy had only been awake for a few minutes. I sat back down in the chair and drifted off to sleep, a little more peacefully this time. Whoever had Dandy's watch, I'd made up my mind to get it back. Come hell or high water.


	8. Rags

Chapter 8 – Rags

I slept off and on the rest of the night. Doc Varner came in once to check on both of us, and I told him about my two-minute conversation with Jim. He was pleased that Dandy seemed to be coherent and went back to sleep by himself. Somewhere around sunrise I heard another of those 'only from Dandy Jim Buckley' moans and realized the patient was awake and in pain. I hustled my butt to get the doctor, and he gave Jim another dose of laudanum. I tried goin' to sleep but my back said 'enough,' and I stretched and yawned before gettin' up for good. "Doc, you want some coffee?" I asked as I stuck my head in his office door.

Evidently the doctor was awake and ready to stay that way. "That sounds real good, Mr. Maverick. See if Lanie's will let you bring a pot and some cream. I've got cups here."

"Only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You stop callin' me Mr. Maverick. The name's Bart."

"Alright, Bart. And I'm Henry. Please."

"You got it, Henry. I'll be right back."

Lanie's must have been used to Henry Varner's requests because I was soon on my way back to his office with a pot full of coffee and a cup of cream. He was in with Dandy, and I pulled another chair into the room so he could keep an eye on the patient. We'd just started on our second cup when my brother appeared.

"Say, that looks good. Got another cup, Doc?"

"In the front office. My name's Henry, by the way. Your brother told me to call you Bret."

"Please. I'll be right back with that cup."

Bret wasn't gone but a minute, and he brought another chair with him. "How's he doin'?" was directed at the doctor.

"Not bad, considering his injuries. He's slept most of the time he's been here, thanks to the laudanum. The only thing I'm really concerned about is his eyes."

"They were open last night, for a while. Course they were only slits, but he acted like he saw me."

"He was awake?" Bret asked.

"Yep, for a few minutes. How'd you do in your endeavors?"

"I'll tell you later. When'd you eat last?"

"Lunch. Yesterday." I was hungry but I didn't want to leave, in case Dandy woke up again. "Doc . . . "

"He won't wake up while you're gone. Go get some food."

I looked at Bret. "Lanie's?"

Bret nodded and stood up. "Come on, before you change your mind."

We walked to Lanie's and got a table in the back. Soon as breakfast was ordered, I began to pass along the information Jim had given me last night. Bret looked skeptical when I told him what Dandy had to say about the size of Shaw's men. "If they're really that big, and it's not just another Buckley fantasy, they should be easy to find."

"He seemed sincere about their size."

"What other words of wisdom did he impart to you?"

I drank about half a cup of coffee before I answered. "That fancy gold watch of his?"

"You already told me, they took it."

"They did, and we gotta get it back. It was his grandfather's."

"Buckley had a grandfather?"

"Of course he did. How'd you think he got here?"

Bret gave it some thought before answering. "Um, crawled out from under a rock?" He chuckled as he said it; for once I didn't find it funny.

"They almost beat him to death, Bret. Can you quit makin' jokes at his expense for five minutes?"

My brother did something uncharacteristic for him. He apologized. Most sincerely, and laid his hand on my arm while he did it. "Sorry, Bart. It's just a force of habit when it comes to Buckley. I know what they did to him, and I'm sorry he's hurtin'."

I kinda shrugged my shoulders. "I know you are. It's just that sometimes I feel like I'm bein' pulled between two warring factions, and I don't want either side to lose. He's my friend, Bret, and that counts for a lot, but you're my brother, and that counts for more. I don't want to see either side hurt, but if I had to make a choice . . . you know what the choice would be."

Bret shook his head. "I'll try to behave, knowin' it makes it easier on you."

"Thank you, it would." Just then breakfast was delivered, and we spent the next few minutes in silence, eating. When I'd gone through more than half my food, I asked him a question. "How'd you do last night?"

A slight smile creased Bret's face before he answered me. "Let's just say I got a good start in the dismantling of the Golden Slipper crooked poker operations."

"That translates as . . . "

"About thirty-five hundred dollars in winnings."

"Good show, old boy, as Dandy would say. And the next step?"

"More of the same. When Dandy's coherent, maybe we can put our heads together and figure out how to beat that roulette wheel. That's where the big money is. Are you goin' back to Doc Varner's?"

"Later. I'd appreciate it if you'd do that for a spell, just to let the doc get somethin' to eat, too. He took real good care of both of us last night. I promised Marshal Decker I'd bring Dandy's clothes back to the jail for him to look at, though why he wants 'em I don't know. A couple other things – Decker doesn't know about you, and I didn't tell him about the stolen money, just the watch. I didn't wanna give him a bigger reason for flat-out robbery."

"Good thinkin'. When Varner's done with breakfast I'm goin' back to catch some sleep. You need to do that, too. I know you – you slept in a chair last night, didn't you? That don't substitute for a real bed."

"I'm alright," I told him as I finished the last of my food. "But I would like to get cleaned up and change clothes. Maybe see what I could find out about this Brad Shaw character, and just who J. Shaw is."

"Go on then, I got breakfast. Get what's left of those clothes to the marshal so he can find some other reason for the beatin'. I'll go back to Doc's office." I started to get up from the table and Bret stopped me. "Are we okay, Bart? The last thing I want . . ."

I gave my one and only brother a Bart smile. "I know, Pappy. We're fine. I'll see you back at the hotel." As I headed out the door of Lanie's I heard Bret sweet-talking our waitress, and I could just see him flashin' those dimples at her. As I headed for our room and the rags that remained of Dandy's clothes, I couldn't help wondering – just what did Decker want them for?


	9. Big Brother

Chapter 9 – Big Brother

 _From Bret:_

 _There are things that happened last night that I haven't told Bart, and I'd rather he didn't know right now. He's got enough on his mind, what with feeling guilty over Dandy's beating and trying to referee the Buckley versus Maverick war._

 _Things didn't go quite as smoothly as I led him to believe at the Golden Slipper. Oh, I won thirty-five hundred dollars alright, but I was up at least two thousand dollars more when I found it necessary to lose some. They'd just changed dealers at the table I was playin' at, and I hate to say it but I came across a man that could give Pappy a run for his money on all the crooked, slimy ways to cheat ever invented. I hadn't seen some of those tricks used since Pappy first showed them to us when we were kids. It became real obvious real fast that he was there to see if I was cheatin', too. So I found it in my best interest to back off and play a little less smart._

 _Then there was the curious matter of one Mr. Brad Shaw. Seems he usually doesn't come into the saloon during the week, but he made an exception last night. Interesting fellow. Medium height, sandy brown hair with a small goatee, dressed better than everybody but Buckley. Wearin' a gold pocket watch in his vest. Wonder who that belongs to?_

 _He paid particular attention to Dandy Jim's roulette wheel, watching it spin and talking to the croupier for quite a while. He kept lookin' around like he half expected Buckley to turn up at any minute, and when he was done there he walked the floor of the saloon. When he got close enough to the table I was sittin' at I could see the outline under his coat of a shoulder holster. And there was a bodyguard with him, but nobody the size of the men Buckley described._

 _There's somethin' else – and maybe I should have told Bart, but it's more of a gut feelin' than anything. The marshal was in the saloon and he spent a good few minutes wrapped in conversation with Shaw. Now, it could have been on the up and up. Or it could have been something more nefarious. There was no way to know for sure. But the fact that Decker wants to see the clothes Dandy had on gives me pause. It just makes no sense, unless some kind of evidence was left on them._

 _One more thing. I asked several people who the mysterious J. Shaw is, but either they didn't know or they didn't wanna tell me._ _Somebody_ _in this place must know. There's a lady bartender at the saloon, and tonight I'll see how far the infamous dimples can get me . . ._

 _What in the world has Dandy gotten Bart and me involved in? And involved we are, 'cause Bart won't walk away without findin' the men that beat his friend, and I won't walk away without my brother._


	10. A Crack in the Facade

Chapter 10 – A Crack in the Façade

I took my time since I knew that Bret was headed back to Doc Varner's. I washed my face and shaved, then put on clean clothes before I grabbed what was left of Dandy's coat, shirt and vest from yesterday. I looked over everything and the only thing I noticed were several long rips or slashes in his coat – knife cuts, most likely. Jim hadn't mentioned anything about a knife, and I wondered if there was a third man attempting to do more than just leave bruises and break bones. I folded the remnants of Buckley's shirt and vest inside what was left of his coat and started back to the marshal's office.

Decker wasn't there. A deputy named Mingus told me he'd gone to the doctor's office, and I went hurrying back. The front door was locked, and the marshal was just coming around from behind the building. "Well, I didn't expect to see you this early."

"Bet you expected me at the jail, too, didn't you?" I asked with a little attitude in my voice. "Come to see if Buckley was dead yet?"

"No, I came to see how he was doin', but Henry doesn't seem to be here."

Just then the front door opened; Doc Varner appeared a bit startled to see both of us waiting for him. I wondered where Bret was, and hoped he was safely gone. "Mr. Maverick, come in. Marshal, what can I do for you?"

"I came to see how Mr. Buckley was doing."

"Not very well, I'm afraid. He's still unconscious, and I really haven't been able to assess the damage."

"So the prognosis is . . . "

"Unknown at this time, marshal."

Decker turned his attention back to me. "Will you come down to my office?"

"After I see Jim. In just a few minutes, marshal."

In less than five minutes Decker was gone and I was once again in Doc's exam room. "How is he really, Doc?"

"Doing better than I expected, Bart. He was awake for a few minutes – even had his eyes open. I asked if he could see me and he said yes. I got some water down him. I remembered what you said yesterday about not telling anybody how he was really getting along . . . that's why I was so evasive with Cory."

There was a small sound from Dandy and I leaned over to see if more would follow, but he remained relatively quiet. "Doc, would you take a look at these clothes we got off Jim yesterday? Decker wants to see 'em, and I'm wonderin' if I missed somethin' important."

"Certainly. Let me have the shirt first." I handed what was left of Dandy's silk shirt to the doctor, and he carefully scrutinized every torn and tattered piece of cloth. He handed it back to me, shaking his head. "Nothing there. How about his coat?" That was the next thing I passed over, and it wasn't a minute or two before Varner turned back to me with something in his outstretched hand. "Here, look at this."

I didn't see anything, and then the light caught what Varner held out to me – five or six strands of long, reddish blonde hair. Woman's hair. How in the world did Jim end up with a woman's hair on his clothes?

The doctor doesn't know Dandy like I do – first off, he tends to gravitate toward brunettes. Secondly, he hadn't said a word to me about a woman, and that was totally unlike Dandy when he's with someone. So I was thoroughly perplexed.

The doctor turned his hand first one way, and then the other, giving close scrutiny to the strands of hair. "That color . . . hmm, there's only one woman in town that has hair that color." I stood there waiting for the woman's name, but Varner just kept staring at what he held. "Does Mr. Buckley . . . ?"

"Know any blondes in town well enough to have their hair end up on his clothes? Not that I know of. Who has that color hair, Henry?"

When he finally gave me the name, it certainly wasn't anything I expected to hear. And it answered a question we'd been unable to get an answer to, while raising so many more. "Like I said, there's only one woman in town. Jamie Shaw."

I knew I was staring, but it didn't matter. "Jamie Shaw? Brad Shaw's wife or sister?"

"Sister. He's not married."

"The same J. Shaw that owns the Golden Slipper Saloon?"

"I don't . . . the Golden Slipper? Are you sure?"

I nodded my head carefully. "I'm sure. She's the owner, according to Bret." I stood there lost in thought for a minute or two while Varner held the hair. Then I made a quick decision. "Put 'em back, Doc. Right where you found them. I wanna take Dandy's clothes down to Decker and see what he has to say."

"I found this, too," and the doctor showed me the inside lining of Jim's coat. I'd been so busy looking at the tears in the back of the coat that I didn't see the inside – the lining was carefully ripped away along the bottom hem. It looked as if something had been sewn in place and then retrieved with no regard for the integrity of the coat.

"Thanks, Doc. I never would have seen the hair – and if I did, I sure wouldn't have known what it meant. Take good care of him until I get back, would ya?" And without giving Doc Varner time to stop or delay me, I was out the door and halfway to the jail.

Deputy Mingus had disappeared and once again Marshal Decker was the only one in the office. He looked up as the door opened and seemed pleased that I'd finally arrived. "Sorry it took me so long to get here. This is everything we took off Mr. Buckley yesterday," and I handed the neatly folded clothes to John Law.

"You sure there was nothin' else?"

What in the world was Decker lookin' for? "That and his pants was all he had on, marshal. Oh, and Long Johns, of course. But we didn't take those off him – there was no need to."

"It's gonna take me a while to look over all this, Mr. Maverick. You're welcome to stay if you'd like, but I would imagine it'll be quite boring for you."

"Can I get them back when you're finished with them?"

"Certainly. I'll bring them by Doc Varner's. I assume that's where you'll be for now."

I nodded. "It is. I don't suppose you've got any idea who could have done this to Jim, do you?"

"No, sir, nothin' so far. Mr. Shaw seems to have gone out of town, and I talked to the merchants that surround his office. No one remembers seeing Mr. Buckley."

I played Mr. Dumb Friend again. "Oh. Well, I hope you'll turn up something soon."

"I'll be sure and get back to you if I do, Mr. Maverick."

I noticed he'd said 'if' and not 'when.' I couldn't help but believe that the marshal was somehow involved in all this. I needed to talk to Bret, so I politely excused myself and headed back to the hotel. I needed to talk to Dandy, too, but at the moment that was a little out of the question.

 _From Dandy:_

 _I've never had words fail me before, but they certainly did now. Maybe not the words themselves, rather it was my voice that wasn't working. I would imagine that was because the doctor keeps pouring that vile tasting medicine down my throat; of course, I'd rather endure laudanum than pain._

 _Bart, old boy, there's a lot of things I'd like to tell you – what the two behemoth's that tried to kill me look like, which one actually stole my grandfather's watch, and how that red-blonde hair the doctor found on my coat got there. Most of all, who it belongs to. But I guess you already know that, don't you? Lastly, what was sewn into the lining of my coat._

 _It could be a while before I get to impart all this information to you. In the meantime I shall continue to slumber my pain away while you and Bret scurry about trying to find answers. One more thing before I go – I do appreciate your attentiveness and willingness to sleep in that dreadfully uncomfortable chair. I certainly couldn't do it. Nor would I want to._


	11. I Don't Know, Can You Tell Me

Chapter 11 – I'd Like to Know, Can You Tell Me, Please Don't Tell Me

When I got back to our hotel room I expected to find Bret asleep – he'd been up all night playing poker, after all, and he had to be tired. There was no one in the room and no sign that anyone had been there since I'd changed clothes earlier.

I was concerned, but not unduly so. Bret's plans were always subject to change, and I assumed he had a good reason for delaying his own rest. Only problem was, I needed to talk to him; to tell him everything I'd discovered in the last hour. I went back to the saloon and walked the floor, looking for the stray Maverick, but I didn't find him. Next I walked down the boardwalk until I reached Shaw's office. It was locked up tight just like it had been yesterday, yet I could hear voices coming from behind a closed door at the back of the room. Unhappy voices. I hurried across the street and ducked behind a building that gave me a direct line of sight to the front door.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and I finally saw movement through the window. In just a minute a man that matched Buckley's description of the 'behemoth that attacked me' emerged and headed away from the office. The scowl on his face matched the tone of the voices I'd heard. Very soon after that a smaller man left and locked the door behind him. He was medium height, sported a trim goatee with sandy colored hair and dressed every bit as elegantly as Dandy. I assumed this was the same Brad Shaw that the marshal insisted had "gone out of town." Funny, he looked to be right in the middle of Grand Junction to me. He walked around the back of the office and disappeared, and I was just about to follow him when there was movement three doors down the street that caught my eye. It was my missing brother.

I waited until Bret was out of sight and then followed both men. This sure didn't look like my brother sleeping. By the time I got around the back of the building, Shaw was riding a bay and was almost at the edge of town. "Doing a little detective work without me?" I asked.

Bret must have heard me because he turned around with a grin. "You wouldn't happen to have a horse with you, would ya?"

"Let's see," and I dug in my coat pockets. "Nope. No horse. The elusive Mr. Shaw?"

"Yeah. You followin' me or him?"

"Considering I didn't know what he looked like and you were supposed to be in bed asleep, I'd guess neither."

"You were just wanderin' down the street when you happened to see me?"

"Somethin' like that. We need to talk, Brother Bret. I have the feelin' you ain't been honest with me." It was more than just a feeling; I knew Bret withheld some information from me.

He gave me another grin, only this time it was of the 'oops, you caught me' variety. "Sorry, there just wasn't time to tell you everything. Our hotel room?"

I nodded, trying my best to paste a disgruntled look on my face. "Our hotel room."

We walked back to the Golden Slipper with nary a sound passing between us. You never knew who was lurking in the shadows, listening. Once behind closed doors I sat on the bed and waited for Bret's explanation. He told me about Shaw's appearance in the saloon the night before, and the gold pocket watch he carried. Finally he relayed the marshal's extended meeting with Shaw, and the gut instinct he had about Decker.

"I'm sure you're right about the marshal. Let me tell you what happened just this mornin'." I went through the whole story, the unexpected hair, the ripped coat lining, my conversations with both the doctor and the marshal. I told him who the strands of hair belonged to. "Jamie Shaw, Brad's sister. J. Shaw, the owner of the Golden Slipper Saloon?"

"There's a real J. Shaw? And it's Brad's . . . sister?"

I nodded vigorously, fairly pleased that I'd found out something Bret hadn't. "Then the question becomes, how did her hair get on Buckley's coat?"

"Well . . . "

"No, Bret, not Buckley. You or me, maybe, but not Jim. He prefers dark-haired women, and then there's the little matter of the Buckley ego. And you know what an ego he's got. He would have been braggin' non-stop about his connection to the owner, and he never said a word. Besides, there's the ripped coat. What was in there? And who was he hidin' it from? We're missin' too much information." My brother looked rather . . . perplexed? Confused? I'd throw clueless in there, too, but Bret never looks clueless. That expression is reserved strictly for me, and it's about what I was feeling right now. We desperately needed to talk this whole situation over with Jim.

"What do we do now? Any suggestions?" That was a switch. Usually it was me asking what came next, not Bret. At least I had something of an answer for him.

"I'm goin' back to Varner's office and see if I can learn anything else from Jim. You're goin' to sleep before you're so tired you can't think. Meet me at Doc's office when you're ready to go to dinner."

"Sounds good to me. You know where I am if you need me for anything."

My turn to grin at big brother. "Are you sure you'll be here?"

"I'm sure."

It was mid-morning when I got back to the doctor's office, and he had two or three people sitting in the waiting room. I went straight back to the exam room to see Dandy and . . . he was gone. Back to Varner's office I went, and that's where I found my friend. Obviously the doc had moved him, but I sure didn't know how. I was pleased that Varner found Dandy stable enough to move. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and it was only about twenty minutes before Henry Varner appeared.

"How'd you get him moved?" was the first thing I asked.

"My son was here; he helped me."

"Your son? How old's he?"

"Nineteen. Mr. Buckley looks heavier than he is – he wasn't hard to relocate. And my office will be more private and give you more time with him."

"Thanks, Doc . . . was he conscious at all when you moved him?"

"Briefly, but I haven't given him any more laudanum . . . so he should be waking up anytime."

"Do you think he'll be lucid? I have to ask him some questions."

"For a while . . . then he'll need more medicine to cope with the pain. Don't push him too hard, Bart. Nothing upsetting or exciting, understand?"

I nodded; I'd do my best to comply with Henry Varner's request. I knew that Dandy held the key to all the questions Bret and me seemed to have. I sat with Jim for an hour or so before he showed any signs of waking up, and then it was a while longer before his incoherent mumbling stopped. That's when I started paying attention.

"Jim, can you hear me? Jim, it's Bart, can you hear me?"

A thin whisper came from the figure on the cot. "Bart . . . that you?"

"It's me, Jim. How you feelin'?"

"Like . . . like I . . . lousy."

That sounded like Dandy. "That good, huh?"

"You found the . . . behemoths . . . yet?"

"Nope, not yet, but I may have found somethin' else. Did Shaw have a gold pocket watch before yours disappeared?"

"Not that I could . . . see."

"Well, he does now. I suspect it belongs to you. If it does, I'll get it back." I paused and let that sink in. His eyes weren't open, but his swollen lips tried to smile. It wasn't successful, and I continued. "I've got some questions to ask about . . . Jamie Shaw."

"You know . . . about Jamie?"

"I know she's the owner of the Golden Slipper . . . and that she has long, red-blonde hair. Some of which was found on your blue coat. How'd it get there, Jim?"

I was waiting for an answer that didn't come. Instead, Jim's eyes opened, wider than they had the first time, and stared at me. He finally blinked and gave me his explanation. "She was in . . . his office. One of the behemoths . . . grabbed me from . . . behind, around the throat. Jamie threw herself . . . at me . . . and tried to hold on. The other monster pulled her away . . . and ripped hairs . . . from her head . . ."

"Why was she there? Why'd she try to hold onto you? You know her, don't you? What connection do you have to her?" His eyes closed again, and I was afraid he'd slipped back away from me. "Dandy! Dandy, wake up!" and I rested my hand on his shoulder and shook ever-so-gently.

"I'm . . . awake."

"Did you hear what I asked?"

"Heard. I heard." Then a few seconds later, a terrible moan escaped him. "Bart . . . I hurt. Help."

I needed the rest of my questions answered, but there was no doubt in my mind that Dandy was in pain. I went to get Doc Varner, who brought the blessed laudanum. In just a few minutes the moaning stopped, and Dandy Jim Buckley was once again asleep. Answers to my questions would have to wait.


	12. Once Again, With Feeling

Chapter 12 – Once Again, With Feeling

"Bart."

I thought I was dreaming and ignored whoever was calling my name.

"Bart." This time it was accompanied by a gentle shake of the shoulder, and my brother's voice. "Wake up, son, it's dinner time."

I was slow to emerge from the fog of slumber, just like I'd been slow to fall asleep earlier in the afternoon. When my eyes opened I realized I was still in Doc Varner's office, sitting in another chair by another bedside. At least this time it wasn't Bret's.

"Um . . . Dandy. Dandy was awake. He told me more about Jamie Shaw."

"Speak. My stomach will wait."

I could have laughed if I'd been more alert. Bret must really be curious if he was willing to put off food for information. "Jamie was in her brother's office when Dandy was there. One of his attackers grabbed him by the throat from behind and she tried to protect him, save him, keep him from whatever they were gonna do to him. The other one grabbed her and pulled her away, and took some of her hair with him in the process."

"Did Dandy know her?"

"Don't know."

"Why was she there?"

"Don't know."

"What happened to her?"

"Don't know."

"Is there anything else you do know?"

I shook my head. "Jim was in a lotta pain. Doc had to give him more laudanum, and he went back to sleep."

Bret sat down next to me and looked over at Buckley. "I'm surprised you got that much out of him."

"So am I. Varner said maybe tomorrow . . . "

"Looks like all we can do is wait until he can stand bein' awake for more than just a few minutes. That and go play some more poker after we eat."

I looked over at him and shuddered. "I wish you wouldn't. Somethin's liable to happen."

"Another premonition?"

"No. Just worried."

He reached over and patted my arm. "You worry too much. Let's go eat. I understand there's another café further down the street."

"Oh yeah, Henry was tellin' me about it. The Rose Café. He says they have great steaks."

"Then let's go. I could stand a good steak."

We headed down the street and soon found the café. That wasn't all we found. Seated at a table near the back were two of the biggest men I've ever seen in my life – they had to be Dandy's 'behemoths.' "You see what I see?" Bret asked.

"How could I miss 'em?"

"Let's take that table right next to theirs." Without waiting for my answer, Bret moved to the table just to their left. They weren't the quietest men in the world; they were drinking coffee and discussing their latest job gone wrong.

"I told you we should've made sure he was dead before we left. Boss ain't gonna like that."

"Ain't supposed to live. Besides, we had to get her out of there."

"Why was she there, anyway?"

"Don't know. Boss didn't say."

Our waitress came by and we ordered. It was a few minutes before it got quiet enough for us to hear them again.

"He went to see her yesterday. He ain't too happy with her, even if she is his sister."

"What's he gonna do, now that he's got the papers? He ain't gonna get rid of her, is he?"

The youngest one looked worried. "Who knows? He wants that saloon back."

"She's his sister!"

" . . . don't care. You seen what happens to . . . that get in his way."

The other man shook his head. "Didn't that Buckley have somebody with him? Think he knows anything?"

"Nope. Decker says . . . "

I looked at Bret. "The marshal's in on it, whatever it is."

Our meals came, and the men got up to leave. I kept my head down until they were gone.

"Sounds like you played the dumb friend real good," Bret pointed out.

"Let's hope so," I agreed as I ate.

Thirty minutes later we were in the doctor's office. "Why don't you go back to the hotel and get some sleep? I'm gonna see if our friends went to the saloon."

"And if they're there?"

He laughed. 'Well, I sure ain't gonna tell the marshal about 'em." Then he got serious. "Go get some sleep in a bed. Dandy won't miss you."

Just then I yawned. The only sleep I'd gotten the last two days had been in a chair at Varner's office. Maybe Bret was right. "What about you? You determined to play poker tonight?"

"Yep. Gotta have some excuse for bein' in the saloon."

Doc opened the door and stuck his head in. "Either of you staying tonight?"

I shook my head and Bret answered. "No. Bart's goin' to the hotel. I'm goin' to the saloon. What about you, Doc?"

"I'm going to stay one more night. Mr. Buckley should sleep through it, but I'd feel better if I was here." Doc paused and took a good look at us. "You both look like you could use a good night's sleep."

"Not for me tonight, Doc. But for Bart . . . "

I wasn't gonna argue with big brother. Even though I'd slept two or three hours this afternoon I still felt like hell, and one night in a bed would do me good. "Okay, okay. I'll go back to the hotel. Henry, I'll see you in the morning. Come on, Pappy, let's go."

We stopped outside the hotel. "Don't open the door for anybody. I've got a key."

"Yes, sir," I answered him. Once I got upstairs to the room it didn't take long to peel off the clothes I had no intention of sleepin' in. Gun belt on the pillow next to me, I was fast asleep in five minutes. And I didn't hear anything until almost seven o'clock the next morning, when Bret came stumbling in and practically collapsed on top of me.


	13. Alone Again, Naturally

Chapter 13 – Alone Again, Naturally

I rolled out from under my brother as fast as I could. His eyes were shut, but he wasn't unconscious or asleep. "Bret, what happened?"

I could see that something had. His string tie was missing and the first three buttons on his shirt were ripped open. His right cheek was bruised and the mark left was that of a fist; there was a small trickle of blood running from his bottom lip to his chin. If this was done by Shaw's men, it wasn't by either of the two we'd seen last night.

"Just a little . . . disagreement. With a dealer."

"Why are your eyes closed?"

Bret opened them and they were bloodshot. They looked painful, even if they weren't. "Got smoke blown in 'em. Repeatedly. Not very nice folks when you beat 'em at their own game."

"Did you . . . ?"

"Cheat 'em? I wouldn't call it that. Let's just say I leveled the playing field somewhat. Management didn't like it."

"And just whose fist did you run into?"

"The dealer at the table I was winnin' at. Caught me by surprise." A small chuckle slipped out. "He's gonna be in pain for a while."

"Did you get to keep the money?" Not that keeping the money was the most important thing – Bret was. But I wanted to know if the punishment had been worth it.

"Most of it." His eyes closed again. "Over five thousand dollars."

I whistled. "Were you escorted outside like Dandy was?" I crawled out of the other side of the bed and went for the washbasin and a wet rag. When I came back Bret was sitting up, leaning against the wall. He winced when I wiped the blood off his face.

"Nope. They wanted to, but I didn't let 'em. Then Decker showed up, and I persuaded him to let me go back to my hotel room."

"And he did?"

Bret started to nod and thought better of it. "I still ain't sure about him, Bart. No matter what our friends said last night. Maybe he's just . . . "

"A lawman that can't keep his mouth shut?"

"Maybe. How bad does it look?" he asked, pointing to his face.

"A lot better than Dandy's. Are you gonna be able to eat breakfast?"

"Even if it kills me," big brother answered, and we both laughed.

XXXXXXXX

Bret ate alright, even if it was painful. He went back to the hotel and I went to Varner's office. I was shocked to find Dandy awake and being spoon-fed broth by the doctor.

"Here, let me do that," and I took the bowl and spoon and tried to finish the job Doc had started. Dandy even managed that small smile today that he was unsuccessful at yesterday, and his face had a little more color than it did before.

"You gonna be able to stay off laudanum long enough to answer some questions for me?" I asked once the broth was gone.

"Gonna . . . try," was the answer I got. Varner had left the room, empty bowl in hand, to tend to a new patient.

"How do you know Jamie Shaw?"

"Just met . . . twice before. She paid me to smuggle . . . papers for her."

Jim must have meant whatever was sewn into his coat. "In your coat?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you had so much money on you?"

"Yes."

"What were the papers?"

There was no answer, and I looked down to find Dandy's eyes closed. "Jim. Jim, are you still with me?"

"Can't, Bart. Can't do any more." And I lost him, to sleep or unconsciousness. Well, he'd lasted longer than he did the last time. I left him there in Henry's office while I went to look for the doctor himself. He'd just finished treating a little boy with a broken arm. What is it about little boys with broken arms? I'd certainly had enough of them. Broken legs, too.

"Doc . . . "

Doc Varner laughed. "He's asleep again?"

"Yep."

"Give him a couple hours, then try waking him again. He should be a little better."

"Is he really gonna be alright?"

"He's going to be fine, Bart. What's worrying you? The way he looks?"

"Yeah. You have to know Jim Buckley to understand him, Doc. He's a vain man, with an ego bigger than your office. If his face was scarred or disfigured in some way . . . I don't know how he'd live with it." I truly was worried for Dandy – his face had been so battered I didn't see how he could ever look the same. But Henry Varner seemed unconcerned.

"He shouldn't have to. His face should heal just fine. It may take a while, but he will heal."

My head bobbed up and down. "Thanks, Doc. I know it shouldn't matter, but it does. To Buckley, I mean."

Varner slapped me on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Bart. Dandy should be glad to have you."

"Sometimes he is, Doc. I gotta go check on my brother. I'll be back in a couple hours. Same thing as before – don't let anybody in and don't tell 'em how he is. Especially Brad Shaw or Marshal Decker."

"Brad Shaw?"

"Just in case."

XXXXXXXX

I did my best to be quiet when I opened the door to our room, but I found Bret lying on the bed watching me. "You been awake this whole time?"

"No. There was somebody at the door just a few minutes ago."

"Knockin' or tryin' to get in?"

"Tryin' to get in."

That's what I was afraid of. "I'm not goin' back to Doc's, I'm stayin' right here. They did enough damage before, and you need some sleep. So quit worryin' about somebody comin' back. They won't like what they find if they do."

"Did you get any more answers out of Dandy?"

"Go to sleep. We can talk about Dandy when you wake up."

Bret gave me that grin of his and rolled over. In less than five minutes I heard him snoring, and I was relieved. The fight he'd had with the dealer was minor – the bruise and cut lip would be gone in a few days. It was the attempt to get in our room that had me concerned. If it was either of Dandy's 'behemoths' they could have done serious, even permanent, damage. If it was Marshal Decker, Bret could be framed and arrested for almost any crime.

We'd gotten into this to help Buckley put an end to a crooked saloon. Now I wondered if that's what it was really all about. We still needed more answers from Jim, but I wasn't leavin' Bret alone again.


	14. Beauty and the Beheamouths

Chapter 14 – Beauty and the Behemoths

Some four hours later the snoring finally stopped. That meant Bret was on the verge of waking up, and within a few minutes his eyes were open. They weren't anywhere near as bloodshot as they had been just a while ago.

He yawned and stretched before sitting up. "Feel better?" I asked.

He reached up and touched the bruise on his cheek. "Yeah, except for this." Obviously the spot was tender and he quickly dropped his hand. "You were gonna tell me about Buckley."

"Jim only met Jamie Shaw twice, and she paid him to smuggle some kind of papers for her. That's where he got the money. And that's what was ripped out of his coat."

"Papers? What kind of papers?"

"Don't know. That's when he fell asleep. I was supposed to try again in a couple hours."

"But you stayed here with me so I could sleep."

"Yep."

"Anybody try to get in again?"

"Nope." It had been as quiet as the inside of a church.

"You goin' back to question Dandy?"

I nodded. "I am if you're up for good."

"I am. Let me change clothes and I'll go with ya."

Doc had the door locked and I knocked on it – it took him a few minutes to answer. "You sleepin'?"

He shook his head. "Cory was here again, asking about Mr. Buckley. I told him there was some small improvement, but nothing substantial. He wanted to come in, but I convinced him it wasn't a good idea."

"Was he alone?" Bret asked.

"No, Little Bill was with him."

"Little Bill?" It was the first time I'd heard the name.

Doc's face got serious. "Little Bill works for Brad Shaw. He'd be the biggest man I'd ever seen, but his brother, Little George, is bigger."

Bret and me exchanged glances. At least we had names for Dandy's 'behemoths'. "Why do you suppose Little Bill was with Marshal Decker?"

Varner didn't answer the question. "Mr. Buckley's awake. If you've got more questions for him, you better go ask him now."

We hurried into the office. Jim's eyes were open, and he gave me another one of those cockeyed smiles. "Bart . . . and Bret. Both of you. I'm . . . honored."

"Dandy, I've got more questions for you. You feelin' up to answerin'?"

"Of course . . . old boy. Do my best."

"You told me Jamie Shaw paid you to smuggle papers for her. What papers were they?"

"Ownership . . . papers. For the saloon. The real . . . papers. Shows that . . . Brad's the legitimate owner, not Jamie."

"What difference would that make?" Bret asked.

"Don't know. Just that it's . . . important."

"Who knew they were sewn in the lining of your coat?"

"Me . . . Jamie . . . Mrs. Wachtel."

"The seamstress?"

"Yes."

"Why'd you wear the coat with the papers in 'em that day?"

"Supposed to . . . meet Mayor Finch later. Give him . . . the papers."

"Dandy . . . why'd you go to see Shaw?"

"Decker suggested . . . it. So did you. Tried to make my . . . complaining . . . about the wheel . . . look legitimate."

It took me a minute, but I had an idea. "Was the mayor tryin' to shut down the saloon?"

"Sounded . . . that way . . . "

I looked over at Bret. "I think there's more to this story than Dandy knows. Maybe we should go see Jamie Shaw."

"Don't know . . . where they took her."

"You mean the behemoths?"

"Yes."

"I think it's time we found out, don't you?" Bret asked.

I nodded. "But maybe we oughta hold off until we can talk to Mayor Finch."

"And Marshal Decker?"

"Him, too."

"Dandy . . . " When I looked back down at the man on the cot, his eyes were closed again. At least we'd gotten to ask all our questions this time. For now.

"Which one first?"

"Let's try the Mayor. It's gettin' late."

I'd seen the Mayor's office while I was lookin' for Bret – it was down the boardwalk and on the opposite side of the street. We headed off that way and found Mayor Finch just about to leave for the day – until I mentioned Dandy Jim Buckley. Hurriedly we were ushered into Finch's office.

"What happened to him? Where is he?"

Bret explained everything we knew, and the mayor listened without a sound. Until we got to the part about Jamie Shaw's disappearance. "And Jim didn't know where they took her?"

I shook my head. "No, and right after that Little Bill and Little George did their level best to beat Jim to death."

"How is he? Where is he?"

"He's gettin' better, slowly but surely. He's at Henry Varner's office, but you and the marshal are the only ones that know that. And Decker thinks he's at death's door." I observed the mayor carefully. "We need to keep it that way."

"Yes, yes, of course. What happened to the papers he was supposed to bring to me?"

"We're not sure. The lining was ripped out of Jim's coat, and the papers were gone."

"What were they, Mayor Finch?" Bret asked.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, gentlemen."

I knew from the expression on his face that Bret was tired of chasin' his tail. "Mayor, somebody got Jim Buckley into this mess, and it almost got him killed. It still might, far as we know. If you want help, you're gonna hafta tell us what you know."

Finch sighed, and pointed to the chairs in front of his desk. "Sit down, please. It's a long story."

According to the mayor, patrons of the Golden Slipper Saloon had started claiming they'd been cheated late last year. Brad Shaw denied it, of course, and maintained he had nothing to do with the changes taking place. They were all affected by the owner, his sister Jamie. The city council drug their feet; Jamie was well-liked by almost everyone and nobody could believe she was responsible for what was happening at the saloon.

Three months ago Jamie Shaw sent word to the mayor that she was not the owner of the saloon; Brad had been lying. He'd gone into partnership with someone new, someone who appeared to be a crook and a cheat. Before the council would take action, they demanded proof of her brother's subterfuge regarding legal ownership.

The mayor had no idea how Jamie knew Buckley, but a deal was made that Jim would be the go-between who provided the paperwork to the council. And then . . . Shaw's men did their best to kill the messenger, steal the papers and make Jamie disappear. Only there was no proof that they'd done anything out of the ordinary.

I looked at Bret. It was hard to believe that Dandy had actually gotten involved in somethin' that would benefit someone besides James Aloysius Buckley. Of course, there was the money. From what I'd seen in Dandy's wallet, he'd been paid quite well for his part in the plan. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out the way it was supposed to.

"What if we could get you the ownership deed?" Bret asked.

"The city council would most grateful," the mayor answered quickly.

"How grateful?" Bret continued.

"Oh, a thousand dollars grateful."

My brother and me exchanged looks. "I don't think it's worth it," I answered his unspoken question.

"Two thousand dollars," was the mayor's next offer.

"Better, but still not worth it," I stated firmly.

"Mr. Maverick, we can go back and forth like this all night. How much would it cost for you and your brother to retrieve the missing documents?"

"Five thousand dollars," I answered without blinking.

"Thirty-five hundred," was the counter offer.

Bret stuck out his hand. "You've got a deal, Mayor Finch."

"Any idea where Shaw's men might have taken Jamie?" was my next question.

"She's got a little house in town, but she's not there. I went by myself to see if I could locate her. Brad has a ranch about six miles south of town. The Double Bar S. I'd look there first."

"One more question, Mayor Finch. Do Little Bill and Little George have a last name?"

"Maxwell. Their last name is Maxwell."

We shook hands all around and left via the back door. "Decker's office?"

"I think that's an excellent idea, Brother Bret. Let's go see which side of the fence the marshal prefers."


	15. The House on Allen Street

Chapter 15 – The House on Allen Street

"Decker doesn't know who you are yet. You want me to talk to him alone?" So far Doc Varner and Mayor Finch were the only ones who knew Bret and me were brothers and working together.

"You go in first. I'll be in later, like I was just comin' by to talk to him about last night."

I nodded and headed into the jail. Decker was working on some kind of report and took a minute to look up. When he did, he didn't seem surprised to see me. "Mr. Maverick, how's your friend?"

"Hangin' on, marshal, just hangin' on. Any word on who's responsible?"

"As a matter of fact . . . " He started, and then abruptly stopped. "I have made some progress, but I'm afraid I'm still investigatin'. Nothin' I can tell you so far."

I'd lost my patience with the man a long time ago, but I was just now willing to let that show. "Surely there must be something you can tell me, marshal? When will Mr. Shaw be back in town? I'm most anxious to find out just what happened when Mr. Buckley went to see him."

"Shaw is supposed to return tomorrow. If he doesn't come into his office in town I'll ride out to the ranch to question him. Patience, Mr. Maverick, I'm sure Mr. Shaw will be just as happy to get this all cleared up as you are."

I'd sat down next to the marshal's desk just as Bret came through the front door. Decker looked to see who was after him this time, and a scowl crossed his face when he caught sight of the troublemaker from the Golden Slipper. "No more fights, I hope, Mr. . . .?"

"Joseph. Bret Joseph. No more fights, Marshal. I just came by to thank you for not haulin' me down to jail on that dealer's word."

"You're lucky I didn't, Mr. Joseph. If anybody else at the table had agreed they saw you cheatin' . . . "

Bret shook his head. "I wasn't cheatin', marshal. But that dealer was."

That's when I inserted myself into their conversation. "More cheating at the Golden Slipper, marshal? What kind of a place is it?"

Decker got up from his chair and walked over to pour himself more coffee. "Mr. Maverick, please stay out of this. It's not the same thing at all."

"Cheating is cheating, marshal. It doesn't matter what kind it is. Is this a respectable town or not? And do you enforce the law or not?"

My brother spoke up again. "You mean there's more cheatin' goin' on over there? No wonder you didn't arrest me. What about the other saloons in town? Are they the same? Why don't you do somethin' about it?"

Now he had two of us to cope with – me sittin' next to his desk and Bret leaning angrily on the front of it.

"I . . . I'm trying to. That's all I can tell you right now, either of you. Mr. Maverick, we have no evidence that the roulette wheel Buckley was complaining about was rigged, or that his complaints had anything to do with his unfortunate beating. Mr. Joseph, the dealer you got into the altercation with has been fired by the saloon, and I believe that to be the end of it. Don't let me catch you bein' accused of cheatin' anywhere else in town, or you will find yourself sitting in one of my cells. Good-night, gentlemen."

Bret huffed and walked out. I sat for another minute or so before getting up. "No offense meant, marshal. But I think almost beating a man to death is a little more important than a common card cheat."

There was no sign of Bret outside, so I walked down the boardwalk towards Doc Varner's office. The door was unlocked and I went in; Doc and Bret were in the exam room talking. They both looked up when I entered. "Closemouthed, wasn't he?"

All I could do was agree with my brother. "Playin' it pretty close to the vest," was my answer. "Has Decker always been so . . . evasive?"

Varner shook his head. "Cory was a good marshal once upon a time. I don't know what happened, but he seems to have fallen under . . . "

"Under what, Doc?" Bret asked.

"Under Brad Shaw's spell."

"Speaking of Shaw – doesn't Jamie Shaw have a house here in town?"

"She does. Down on Allen Street, last house on the left. Kind of a yellow color, with a white porch swing. Why? Is she still missing?"

"Yep. Hasn't been seen since Buckley got hurt. Speaking of which, how is he?"

"He was awake when Bret got here. I got some soup down him, and he seems more coherent than he was. Go take a look for yourself."

I did, and was surprised to find Jim still awake. "Hey, Dandy, how you feelin'? Any better?"

"Not so sleepy," Dandy answered me in as clear a voice as I'd heard in several days. "Did you find the behemoths?"

"Not yet," I told him, "But we know who they are. Bill and George Maxwell."

"A step forward."

"Help me take another one. How'd you get involved with Jamie Shaw?"

"Met her at Lanie's. Saw me playing at Golden Slipper and thought I could help her. Of course, I wasn't inclined to – until she mentioned a fee. A big, fat fee, Bart. One that was almost . . . too good to be true. And all I had to do was deliver some papers to the mayor. All I had to do . . . "

"That's it? That's all there was to it?"

Dandy looked up at me. "That's all. Didn't turn out quite as planned." He paused, looked away and then back again. "Tell me the truth, Bart. What do I look like? I know . . . what they did to me. How bad is it?"

"I ain't gonna lie to you, Jim, it looks bad. But I talked to the doctor, and he says you're gonna be fine. No scars, no marks, just that beautiful, deceitful face."

"Is that the truth?" There was doubt in his eyes; lots of doubt.

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Well, no. Not that I know of. Is your brother here?"

I nodded. "In the other room, with the doctor."

"Would you ask him . . . to come in here?"

I was surprised but agreed. Why Dandy wanted to see Bret, I don't know. And why Bret would be willing to see Jim was beyond me. But I did as asked, and as I watched Bret head towards Henry's office I told the doctor, "I'm going to Jamie Shaw's house. Tell Bret I'll be back later."

Allen Street wasn't too far, and I was there in about five minutes. The house looked just the way Varner had described it – a yellowish color with a white front porch swing. Everything was dark and still, and it looked like no one was home or had been for a while. I walked around the back and found the door unlocked; as I opened it a gray cat came careening out. Evidently Jamie Shaw hadn't intended to be gone this long; the poor animal went straight to the nearest puddle of water and drank furiously.

I found a match and lit it. Everything looked pretty normal, other than the fact there was no one home. I'd gotten into the main room before the match burned my fingers and went out. I lit another one just before a noise in the bedroom attracted my attention. Following the light I saw a shadow on the far wall and drew my Colt; what I didn't know was the shadow had a friend, and the friend was behind me.

Before I could move out of the way something heavy and hard crashed into the back of my skull and I dropped to the floor without so much as a whimper.


	16. Good Help is Hard to Come By

Chapter 16 – Good Help is Hard to Come By

I have no idea how long I lay in Jamie Shaw's house, in the dark, with the back of my head bleeding. I only know that sometime later there were hands pressing something against the painfully sore spot at the base of my skull, and there was a voice murmuring words that I couldn't hear clearly and didn't understand. And I've no idea whose voice it was.

I tried to fight my way out of the morass I was in, but I guess I've gotten knocked out like that too many times, and the fog wasn't lifting anytime soon. Eventually I heard something that I recognized. My brother's voice. "Bart, Bart, wake up, son. You been . . .too long now. I'm gonna . . . you over . . . see what's goin' on . . . back." I didn't catch all the words, but I got the idea, and I felt his hands on my shoulders, rolling me over onto my back. I let out a yell when the back of my head came into contact with the floor; and Bret followed with an "Easy, easy."

"Do you hear me?"

"Yeah," I whispered. That was about as loud as I could get right now; even a whisper vibrated in my head until the pain was searing hot.

"Who was here with you? Who tried to stop the bleeding?"

"What?" I was bleeding – of course – and somebody tried to stop it? And then I sort of remembered. The hands I felt before Bret's, and the voice I didn't recognize or understand. "I . . . don't know."

"Well, whoever hit you did a fine job. I need to get you to Doc Varner. If I get you up, can you walk?"

"Don't know," I answered truthfully, my words hurting just a little less than they did before. And Bret tried, but as soon as he got me to my feet my legs gave way, and he was the only thing that stopped me from crashing back down to the floor.

"That won't work. I know this is gonna be unpleasant, but I hafta carry you. You ready?"

Without giving me any time to think, Bret picked me up lack a sack of flour and flung me across his shoulders. Bret's strong as can be, I'll give him that, but it was no little distance to the doctor's, and I could hear him grunt and feel him readjust my weight every few feet. After what seemed like a lifetime I felt him reach for what must be the doorknob; then he was slowly setting me down on Henry's recently vacated exam table.

"Was he at Jamie's house?" I heard Doc ask.

"Yep, but he wasn't the only one there. Somebody did this to him, and somebody tried to stop him from bleedin' to death. I doubt it was the same person."

"My God, there's a lot of blood," was the doctor's only remark.

"He's a bleeder," Bret told him, "and he's been hit back there way too often. Anybody besides Miss Shaw might be in her house?"

"Not that I know of. She doesn't have a housekeeper or a cook, and I don't think Brad's ever been there."

"Wouldn't be Shaw that tried to help him like that, anyway. I would imagine it was one of the Maxwell brother's that hit him, but it don't make no sense for anybody but her to try and help him. But if it was Jamie, what was she doin' there tonight? If Bill and George took her to the Double Bar S, how'd she get back to her house?"

"Couldn't be Jamie," I murmured. "Cat ran out the back door. Needed water."

"That would be Simon, Jamie's cat. I have to agree with Bart; if it had been Jamie she would have let the cat out the back door herself. Either that or given him water." Doc looked down at me; my eyes must have looked the way Dandy's did the first time he opened them – little slits and not much more. "Bart, I have to take stitches. Do you want some laudanum?"

"No," Bret answered for me. "He hates the taste of it."

"Whiskey?"

"Sew . . . me up."

I gritted my teeth as Varner started. I should be used to it by now; because I bleed so much, they always have to take stitches when I get hit in the head. Which happens much too often as far as I'm concerned. He told me later he took seven or eight; I did my job and passed out after the second one. When I woke up it was closer to morning than night, and I was alone in the room. I tried to sit up and get off the exam table; as soon as my feet touched the floor I started to pitch forward. If Bret hadn't come into the exam room and caught me I would've probably cracked the front of my head open.

"Always in a rush, ain't you? No wonder I stay with you when you're damaged."

"I thought . . . "

"I know, you thought I wasn't here. You oughtta know better by now. Where were you goin', anyway?"

"To find you. What time is it?"

"Almost four in the mornin'. Now that you found me, what was your next step?"

"Back to Jamie Shaw's house."

"To look for what? There's nobody there. Let's get you back up on the exam table, son."

"I wanna go back there, Bret."

"Why?"

"To find out who was there."

"Probably Bill and George. You know that one of 'em cracked you in the back of the head."

"I wanna know who else was there."

"Alright, I'll make you a deal. You get back on that exam table and get a couple more hours rest, and I'll go back there with you."

That sounded reasonable to me. Besides, my head still hurt. "Help me up, would ya, Pappy?"

I didn't have much trouble goin' back to sleep, and when I woke up again I was staring into the face of Henry Varner. "Bret says you tried to get up earlier today. From what he told me, you ought to know better than that."

"He's a tattle-tale."

"He's your brother and he wants what's best for you. Let's see if you can sit up."

With the doctor's help I made it into a sitting position. I was still light-headed, but most of the pain was gone. "Where is my brother, anyway?"

"He's feeding Mr. Buckley."

"Are you serious?" Bret feeding Dandy Jim? This I wanted to see for myself. As I started to inch off the exam table, Doc put his hand on my chest and stopped me.

"Stay right where you are until your brother comes back."

"Doc . . . " I started to protest.

"I have my orders," Henry laughed.

When Bret finally entered the room I was feeling much better. "I'm ready to go."

"Not without some food, you're not. If you can make it over to Lanie's and back on your own, we'll leave."

"No coffee," Doc yelled as we went out the door. I stumbled a time or two but stayed on my feet, and we had breakfast, minus coffee for me. On the way back I was steadier, and by the time we arrived I really was ready to go. But I wanted to see Jim first.

He looked much better. The facial bruises were beginning to fade, and he sounded more like Jim. "I heard you had a new nurse this morning."

"Bosh, old boy. If you'd do your job, your brother wouldn't have to."

"I was a little indisposed." I turned around so he could see the bandage on the back of my head.

"Slacker. That's nothing."

"Dandy, tell me about Jamie Shaw."

"What about her? She's much more your type than mine."

"I don't have a type, Jim."

"Oh, yes, you do. On the smallish side. Red-blonde hair, blue eyes, very aristocratic nose. Sounds like a schoolgirl when she laughs. That's about all."

"Did she smell like . . . flowers?"

"She did. I thought you hadn't seen her yet."

He was right; I hadn't seen her. But I didn't have to see her to know she smelled like flowers. The scent was quite distinctive; it was the only thing I could identify from last night.

"I haven't."

"Then how did you know . . . hey, wait a minute," Jim called after me as I left the room. I'd explain it to him when I got back. I just wanted to make sure Bret was still willing to take me to the Shaw house. I needn't have worried.

"You walk pretty good for a man recently damaged. Head feelin' better?"

"It is. Let's get over there before half the town's up."

We walked out the door – correction, Bret walked, I shuffled. And I realized it was already too late – more than half the town was up. We headed straight for Allen Street – and the little yellow house with the white front porch swing that held all the secrets.


	17. The Book of Jamie

Chapter 17 – The Book of Jamie

It was a whole lot easier to see everything in the daylight than it was the dark. Simon, the cat, was sitting outside Jamie's back door, and he scurried inside when Bret pushed it open. I got my bearings right away and went straight to the front room and a seat by the fireplace. Walking here had been more of a strain than I'd anticipated. "Anything look familiar?" Bret asked.

"Nope. I think I was in this room for about five seconds, and it was dark."

"Then where?"

I pointed south. "Down the hall, that way. The match I had went out, and I lit another just as I got to the bedroom."

"You good or you need to sit another minute?"

I got up in a hurry, acting like it was no problem. The last thing I wanted was big brother sayin' "I told you so."

We went down the short hall, and when we got to the bedroom doorway I stopped. There was a dark red stain on the floor, courtesy of my head, but there was something else. I bent down to pick it up and Bret had to keep me from fallin' over, but when I got upright I held somethin' familiar in my fingers – strands of red-blonde hair.

"Is it a match?"

"It is. Now, what was she doin' here in the dark? And how'd she get here?"

Bret thought of one more. "And why didn't she let the cat out?"

"Either she was runnin' away from the Maxwell boys or they brought her here."

"Then why help you? She doesn't even know who you are."

That took a little while to answer. "Maybe that's why – she figured I was an innocent bystander."

My own brother laughed. "You – innocent?"

"Alright – where is she now?"

"Back wherever the 'little' boys took her." He watched me walk further into the bedroom. "You didn't get in there."

"I know, but maybe she did." The cat was playing with a piece of paper he'd found on the floor, and I took it away from him and looked it over. It was pretty ragged by this time, but it was definitely some kind of legal document. One thing on the paper that was clearly visible were the words 'of the Property in question.' "Look at this," and I handed the paper to Bret.

"Maybe she had a duplicate?" he suggested.

"Maybe this is the original and what was sewn into Dandy's coat was a forgery."

"Either way, I think it's time we found Jamie Shaw."

This time I nodded carefully. "I should think the Double Bar S would be the first place to look."

"I agree, but we're takin' a buggy."

"I got no argument with that," I told him and he smiled.

Half an hour later we were on our way out of town headed south. "And who are we supposed to be?" I asked, wondering if Bret already had a plan in mind.

"Me? I'm nobody, just somebody hangin' around the livery that you hired to drive you out here. You're a friend of Buckley's, and he left a letter and a document for Miss Shaw."

"Which lets them think he's dead?"

"Yep. Let's keep Dandy outta this." A pause, and then, "That's the only way to keep him safe."

"Since when do you care about keepin' Dandy safe?"

Bret gave me a sheepish grin. "Who says I do?"

"And just what's in this letter?"

"Oh, I don't know. We'll think of somethin'. But she's gotta come into town to get it."

It was the first time I'd smiled since my head got cracked open. "And Dandy thinks I'm devious."

I think it's a Maverick family trait.

XXXXXXXX

The Double Bar S was a horse ranch about half the size of Anderson Garrett's place. There was a brand new barn off to one side of the property and half a dozen fine-looking Arabian mares in the corral. I failed to understand why someone that owned a ranch this large and prosperous looking had to cheat folks out of their money. Leave some of it for us . . . at least we play 'em honestly.

Bret drove right up to the door so I could get out easier, and when I knocked it was answered by Mr. Shaw himself. I think I was startled and had to hang on to my poker face; I expected one of the Maxwell's to be on the other side of the door when it opened. I was just as happy they weren't. "Mr. Shaw?"

"Yes, sir." Brad seemed a pleasant enough fellow . . . if I didn't know better I might have liked him.

"I'm Bart Maverick. I was Jim Buckley's friend."

He caught my choice of words right away. "Was, Mr. Maverick?"

"Yes, I'm afraid Mr. Buckley is no longer with us."

Shaw didn't change expressions. "I'm . . . sorry to hear that. I wanted the opportunity to prove to him that the Golden Slipper is an honest, above-board establishment. I'm sorry that I won't get that chance. It was terrible what happened to him after he left my office. Just terrible." He cleared his throat. "Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Maverick?"

"Oh, this has nothing to do with me, Mr. Shaw. I understand that your sister, Miss Jamie, is staying with you. It's her I've come to see. May I come in?"

"Oh. Oh, certainly. Jamie, you say? I'm not sure she's in any condition to see anyone, especially someone connected to the late . Somehow she feels personally responsible for the awful circumstances that befell him."

"That's just it, Mr. Shaw. Mr. Buckley left a letter and a document of some sort for Miss Shaw, and he made me promise I would notify her of their existence. The document belongs to her, I believe."

Shaw had ushered me into the house, and we currently stood in the front room. He offered a chair and I accepted his 'hospitality,' then he offered coffee or a drink and I declined. "A . . . letter. And a document of some sort. Well, I must admit I'm at a loss. Whatever could Mr. Buckley have left for Jamie?"

"I have no idea, Mr. Shaw. All I can tell you is that they are in the safe at the Grand Junction Bank and Trust, to be opened by Miss Shaw, and Miss Shaw alone. And there is one more requirement. Mr. Buckley insisted that they are accessed only in my presence."

"That is quite an unusual request, isn't it, Mr. Maverick? I wonder what Mr. Buckley's justification for all the intrigue was."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. "Do you understand why I wanted to see Miss Shaw, to deliver the message to her in person? I feel this is the last wish of a dying man, and I want to fulfill it to the best of my abilities."

"Yes, yes, I see. Let me go talk to her, and see if she feels up to seeing you. Wait here, please." I did as told; it was quite a few minutes before I heard footsteps returning to the room I occupied. More than one set of footsteps. When I finally got a look at Jamie Shaw I had to admit that Dandy was right; she was more my type woman than his. Something flashed in her eyes when she got close enough to recognize me, but she held her tongue, as did I. "Mr. Maverick's come all this way just to talk to you, Jamie. You can at least have the courtesy of explaining why you won't go into town."

She shook her head and that long, red-blonde hair seemed to float in all directions. She extended her hand to me and I kissed the back of it, much as Dandy would have done. "I've changed my mind, Bradley. It's the least I can do for Mr. Buckley. I would like to see what Jim left for me. Mr. Maverick, what would be a convenient time for you?"

"The sooner the better, Miss Shaw. I have other arrangements to make regarding Mr. Buckley, and then I'm going to be leaving Grand Junction. Could you possibly come with me now? I have a man with a buggy outside, and we can bring you back to the ranch as soon as you're finished."

I didn't expect Shaw to let her go, and he didn't disappoint. "Are you sure, Jamie? You must be devastated."

"I'm sure, Brad. Thank you very much, Mr. Maverick, I accept your gracious offer. Can you wait a few minutes while I change clothes?"

"No problem, Miss Shaw."

"Jamie, I'm going to have Little George follow you into town."

Jamie Shaw pouted, and it was a pretty little pout. "Must you, Bradley? What can go wrong, after all?"

"Little George is going to follow you. Or you don't go." 'Bradley' had finally laid down the law.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Alright, if you insist. Excuse me, gentlemen." Now all we had to do was figure out how we were gonna deal with Little George. And that was no small task.


	18. Baby's in Black

Chapter 18 – Baby's in Black

I was still trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl when the buggy set off again for Grand Junction. I had several reasons to do that, including the fact that my older brother was playing hired hand, but the main reason was Jamie Shaw. When she'd reappeared in the house, she was dressed all in black, mourning for Dandy Jim, no doubt.

"Miss Shaw, you're my guardian angel from last night." She turned in her seat and gave me a dubious look, but remained silent. "You smell like flowers. That smell is distinctive. Tell me, was it Little Bill that hit me? Is that why Little George didn't recognize me?"

"It was Bill."

The urge to laugh struck me again as we headed towards town. I was still fixated on her mourning dress. Jim was smiling, I'm sure, right before I ruined her illusion. "Jim Buckley is very much alive, Jamie."

"But . . . you said . . . "

"A cover story to protect the man," Bret informed her. "By the way, I'm another friend of Dandy's, not just some hired hand." There it was for the second time since we'd been in Grand Junction – my brother's claim that Dandy was a friend. There was somethin' goin' on here . . . I put that aside for now and concentrated on the issues at hand.

"I let your brother think Jim's dead to protect him. He's gettin' better every day, but its slow goin'. We've got lots of questions we need to ask you . . . but you were a little hard to locate."

"Courtesy of the Maxwell's," Bret added.

"So the letter and the document?" the girl asked.

"Don't exist. What was sewed into Jim's coat? Was that the real document or a forgery?"

"It was the real thing, but there were two of them. Just in case something happened to one . . . I had a duplicate made. The other copy is still at my house."

"And that's what you went back there to retrieve."

"No, not to retrieve. To make sure it was still safe."

"And this? Is this part of it?" I pulled the ragged paper I'd recovered from her cat out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"Yes. Simply a cover page, explaining what was attached. I take it you got this from Simon?" she questioned, after examining the claw and tooth marks.

"Yes, I did. Speaking of Simon – why didn't you let him out when you first got to the house? When I opened the back door he came tearin' outta there like his tail was on fire."

"I tried to let him out, Mr. Maverick. He wouldn't go. Then you came in and he was frightened – that's why the hurried escape. Why were you there, anyway?"

"I was tryin' to find you, Miss Shaw. Nobody had seen you since Dandy was . . . beaten. We identified you from the hair left on his coat. What's this all about, anyway? The ownership of the Golden Slipper?"

She looked over her shoulder, to the big man trailing us. "Are we really going to the bank? Can we talk there? I'd feel better without that . . . man looming over me."

I looked at Bret. "It's your idea, Bret. Maybe you can drop us at the bank . . . "

"But we'd still have Little George followin' us. I've got a plan . . . "

XXXXXXXX

When we got to Grand Junction, Bret pulled the buggy up in front of the jail. "You two go on in. George and me will be in shortly."

I ushered Jamie through the door and closed it behind us. Decker looked up from his regular spot behind the desk, and his mouth fell open. "Miss Jamie . . . what's happened? Who . . . Brad?"

"Settle down, Decker. Nothin's happened to your paycheck." Before I could say any more the front door swung open and Little George filled the doorway – with his hands raised.

"Who . . . what . . . what is this?"

Bret wasn't visible, but his voice floated out from behind Behemoth number one. "Arrest this man, Decker, or so help me I'll have your badge."

The marshal was so confused he had no idea who was behind Maxwell. "On what charge?"

"Attempted murder." Maxwell lurched forward, and Bret finally entered the room, with his gun firmly in the back of the accused.

"Attempted murder of who?"

"Dandy Jim Buckley," I replied.

"Do . . . do you have witnesses?"

"We do," was my brother's retort. "Jim Buckley and Jamie Shaw."

"But you . . . you said Buckley was gonna die," the marshal practically wailed.

"I lied." And I gave Cory Decker my best smug smile.

Bret pushed Maxwell forward and into an open cell. Little George had to duck to get through the door, and Decker scurried over with the key and locked it. "Now, somebody please tell me what's goin' on. Jamie?"

"Little Bill and Little George attacked Mr. Buckley in my presence and attempted to beat him to death. They then dumped what little was left of him in the field behind town, back of my brother's office. And forced me to go out to the Double Bar S and stay there against my will."

"Enough to hold him with, marshal?" Bret asked.

"What? Yes, yes, it's enough to hold him. And just what's your involvement in all this, Mr. Joseph?"

Bret got that sneaky little smile of his on his face. "Um, actually it's Maverick, marshal. Bret Joseph Maverick. Any more questions?"

The marshal dropped back into his chair, and Jamie sat down next to him. I took the desk opposite Decker, and Bret perched on the side of the desk I was sitting at. The marshal blew out a breath and addressed himself to Jamie. "I don't work for your brother. I want you to understand that. I've never taken a dime from him."

"Then why have you seemed so reluctant to do your job, marshal?" The question was Bret's, but again the answer went to Jamie.

"When I was younger and I first got this job . . . I arrested Bill Maxwell for murder. There were three witnesses, and one by one the witnesses either changed their stories or left town. But I had their affidavits, and the circuit judge said that was enough. That night I went home and found my dog dead, shot in the head. Two nights later my barn burned to the ground. Then I got a message from your brother; it was short and to the point _. 'Drop the charges against Bill Maxwell.'_ I should have done what I was told, but I didn't. A week later my house burned down.

"My mother was eighty-three years old and stayin' with me at the time. It was by the grace of God that I'd brought her into town that day to do some visitin' with the church ladies." Decker paused, gathering his courage to tell the rest of the tale. "Soon as I heard what happened I came straight here and let Bill outta jail. And I've stayed out of your brother's way ever since."

The marshal lowered his head and I saw Jamie reach out a hand to comfort him. I felt for Decker, but that didn't change the facts. "Mayor Finch wants to shut the saloon down, marshal. He needs that proof of ownership to do it. If you'll just stay outta the way, we'll get him what he needs." I waited for a verbal answer, but none came. Finally Decker nodded.

I stood up and so did Bret. Jamie leaned over and whispered something to the marshal before following our example. She turned to me and asked, "Can I see Jim first? Then we can go get what the mayor needs from my house."

I would have felt better if we'd done things the other way around, but she seemed so determined to see Dandy that I gave in. "Alright, we'll do it your way," I replied, and I saw Bret's eyebrows shoot up. I know what he was thinkin' – and he was right. But when I gave him that 'okay, you tell her no' look – he never said a word.

So we walked across the street to Doc Varner's office.


	19. Little Mouse, Big Rat

Chapter 19 – Little Mouse, Big Rat

It was a shock to walk into Henry Varner's office and find him having a conversation with Jim. Not only that, but Buckley was more or less sitting up in bed. Before any of us could say anything, Jamie had rushed to Jim's bedside and clasped his hands in hers. Even Dandy looked startled.

Doc and Bret left the office quickly, and I hurried after them. "Jamie Shaw?" was the first thing Henry said when we got into the other room. "Was she at the ranch?"

"You bet," Bret replied, then he looked at me quizzically. "What was all that about? I thought you said Buckley only met her twice?"

"That's what he told me, but it sure didn't look like that, did it?"

Bret shook his head. "Didn't look like that at all."

Doc went back to his exam room to work and Bret went out front to smoke a cigar. I waited over ten minutes and then went back into Doc's office. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to get those papers, Jamie."

The girl got up and said her goodbyes, with Dandy looking just as startled as he did when she arrived. "Uh, Bart, old boy?" I heard once she was out of sight.

"Jim?"

"Jamie seems . . . different. Skittish . . . afraid . . . watch out for her, would you?"

"I thought she wasn't your type."

Dandy looked . . . more like Dandy than he had in days. Exasperated was about the best description I could give him. "Type has nothing to do with it. Something's off. Keep an eye on her, would you? For me?"

Good or bad, Jim had unerring instincts when it came to trouble. I nodded, indulging him as well as myself. "I will."

"Thanks, old boy," was the last thing I heard as I left the office and joined Bret and Jamie outside. The girl still seemed unsettled.

"He looks so bad, but better than I expected. I surely thought . . . they would kill him."

"Dandy's tougher than he looks," I tried to reassure her.

We took the buggy to Jamie's house. I played lookout but didn't see anyone following or watching us. This time we went in the front door.

Simon was there to greet us, and I picked him up and carried him with me, following Jamie and Bret into her bedroom. Bret helped her move a small dresser away from the wall and then carefully pried up one particular board on the floor underneath. Jamie kneeled down and pulled out an envelope, which she tore open carefully. She gasped when she found it empty.

"It was here, right here in this envelope. How did he find it?"

"Your brother?" I asked as the cat wiggled away from me.

"Who else? That . . . that scoundrel!"

"Now what?" was my next question.

"The mayor," Bret suggested immediately.

"Maybe . . . he can persuade the council to close the place anyway. Even without my deed."

"It's worth a try. If it doesn't work . . . "

"Back to see brother dear," were Bret's final words.

XXXXXXXX

Mayor Finch shook his head, albeit reluctantly. "I'm afraid they won't just take your word, my dear," he explained to Jamie. "Because of the ongoing dispute, they're not going to take action of any sort until they have written proof of ownership."

She turned back to me and Bret. "Then we have to go get the deed." She shifted her gaze to me, the obvious soft touch, and there was pleading in both her voice and her eyes. "Please?"

I looked at Bret. I was willing to go another round with Mr. Shaw; I wasn't so sure that Bret was. Besides, there was still the matter of Dandy's gold watch to resolve. Bret shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. Why not? We're in this deep."

XXXXXXXX

About halfway back to the ranch I caught sight of Little Bill trailing us. He was trying his best to stay hidden by the terrain, which has got to be darn near impossible when you're that big. "We got company," I told Bret, and he nodded.

"Saw him about a mile back. Think he'll try to stay outta sight?"

"Is that what he's doin'? He's not doin' a very good job of it, is he?"

"I'd rather have him following us than running back to the Bar S to tell Brad we're coming," Jamie commented.

"Oh, I'm sure your brother's aware that we're comin'. And that we're one Maxwell short." I felt better knowing that Little George was already locked up in the Grand Junction jail.

We rode in silence the rest of the way to the ranch. Jamie had changed clothes before we left her place, and she looked a lot more comfortable than she had in widow's weeds. Once again Bret pulled right up to the front of the house, only this time he got out and went to the door with us. I was about to knock when the door swung open.

Shaw stood inside, a pistol in his right hand. "Come in, weary travelers. Come in." He waggled the gun at us and we did as ordered. "Now drop those gun belts, boys." Again we obeyed.

"I see you're not in mourning clothes anymore, sister dear. Have you had enough grieving over the late, unlamented James Buckley?"

I shot a look at Jamie that pleaded, _'Please, protect Dandy,_ ' and she seemed to understand. "It was too hot," she complained, and dropped down into a chair. I followed suit; Bret stood. Shaw then turned his attention to my brother.

"And who are you, really, Mr. Joseph? No lies or stories, please."

"No lies, Mr. Shaw. My name's Maverick. Bart's my brother."

"Ah-ha, I see. And was Mr. Buckley a friend of yours, also?" There was a snide tone in Shaw's voice.

"Sometimes."

"And now that he's gone?"

Bret shrugged. "I'll live."

Shaw leaned against the big stone fireplace, and the gold chain on his watch showed. "Buckley's watch?" I questioned.

"Not anymore." That was the answer I'd expected.

"Surely it can't mean anything to you," I implored him. "It was a gift from his grandfather; I'd like to bury it with him."

"Oh, how sweet," Shaw mocked. "No."

I hadn't expected him to just hand it over, but I would get Jim's watch back – one way or the other.

"What did you do with the second deed to the Golden Slipper, Brad?" Jamie finally asked him.

"Oh, it's someplace safe. Don't you worry yourself, little mouse. You won't be needing that, after all. Now, I must decide what to do with our guests, the Mavericks. Since you found it so convenient to leave Little George in Grand Junction, I suppose Little Bill will just have to address the issue."

My head didn't hurt anymore and my legs were a lot steadier than they'd been earlier; Bret appeared to be in better shape than I was, but I wondered if the two of us could handle Little Bill. Before I had a chance to debate the subject any further, a shot rang out. It came from the direction of the corral. I could hear voices outside – one sounded like Maxwell's, and the other was . . . Cory Decker. The marshals was loud and angry; it was only later we learned that Bill shot him in the left arm. The arguing continued, and there was a second shot just as Shaw closed the front door. "Good help is so hard to find these days. It would appear that I'll have to deal with you boys myself."

He pulled the hammer back on his gun and swung it toward Bret, but before he could take aim Jamie let out a yell. My brother flung himself at her brother. The gun went off and I grabbed Jamie and pulled her to the floor, then reached for the derringer in my shoulder holster. The two men wrestled on the ground for two or three minutes, both fighting for the gun, and I couldn't get a clear shot at Shaw. Just as it had begun to look like he might be able to gain the upper hand on Bret, the front door opened and the sound of another shot filled the room. Decker.

There was a startled look in Shaw's eyes for no more than a few seconds; he'd been mortally wounded, and he knew it. I grabbed Jamie and pulled her to me, burying her face in my shoulder. However she might have felt about 'Bradley,' he was her brother and she didn't need to watch him die.

"You alright, Maverick?" I heard Decker ask.

Bret must have seen the blood running down the marshal's arm, as I did, because his response was quick. "Yep. You?"

"Yep. Maxwell's dead."

I could feel Jamie's sigh as I held her against me. "How about you? You okay?"

"I will be," she answered without hesitation. "Is it over?"

"Yes." I stood up and helped her up with me; she continued to lean into me for another minute or so and then slowly pulled away. I held onto her arm as she turned and scrutinized the body of her brother.

"At least you can give Jim his watch," Jamie murmured.

"Yes, I can." I shot a look my brother's way, and he nodded back at me. We'd kept our promise to help Dandy Jim, although nothing had turned out exactly the way I expected it to. And we weren't quite finished yet.


	20. Fulfillment of Agreement

Chapter 20 – Fulfillment of Agreement

It was almost six weeks before James Aloysius Buckley looked and felt enough like himself to meet us for one last spin of the roulette wheel in Grand Junction. Bret had gone to Palisade for a few days and I stayed in town to help Jamie get everything settled, then we met up again in Heatherton and Milford, even wandering up to Loma and straying into Utah for a night or two. When the word came that Jim was about to return to his wicked, wicked ways, we packed up and headed back to Colorado.

It took a while for the original deed of trust on the Golden Slipper to be found. Turns out Brad Shaw owned not only the saloon and gambling hall but the hotel, too. And there was no mention of a partner anywhere in the documents.

Since Jamie had inherited the property with her brother's passing, she fired everyone involved in the crooked gambling operation and vowed to close the Golden Slipper as soon as Dandy was well enough to put in one last appearance. A man named Hugh Mason swept into Grand Junction and offered her an enormous sum of money for the land and the buildings, and Jamie happily accepted. The Arabian mares in the corral at the ranch had been Jamie's idea, and she was more than pleased to move to the Double Bar S and begin breeding them. Even Simon the cat was glad to make the trip. There were way more mice at the ranch than at the little house on Allen Street.

Dandy had been reinstalled in his original suite at the hotel, and that's where he recuperated. Free of charge, of course. He lived like a king for those six weeks.

Jamie returned Dandy's gold watch and for once I discovered that he'd told me the truth. It really had been his grandfather's watch, Baron William James Herbert Buckley. And Jim was indeed his favorite.

Decker. There's another story that turned out better than expected. George Maxwell was tried and convicted of the attempted murder of James Buckley and the kidnapping of Jamie Shaw. He managed to escape hanging, but he'll be spending the next twenty years of his life in the Colorado State Prison. Once there was no more Brad Shaw or Bill and George Maxwell, Decker turned into the marshal he'd been too terrorized to be. There may not ever be a romance between 'em, but Cory and Jamie have evolved into fast friends.

When we finally arrived back in town, it was nice to be told that our room was 'on the house' too. Of course, it wasn't as fine as Dandy's room was, but as I've said many times before, free is free. We joined Jamie and Dandy in the hotel dining room for a first-rate steak dinner, and I immediately noticed something I'd seen and heard earlier. Bret and Jim had returned to their old ways of sniping at each other.

I thought maybe I was imagining it at first, but the more I paid attention the more they sounded like Sir Bret and Sir James of the Round Table, jousting at each other. Finally, I could take no more and asked the question about to drive me crazy – "I thought you two were friends. What happened to that truce you had?"

"What truce, old boy?" Jim asked, not even pretending to know what I was talking about.

"Friends?" Bret asked incredulously. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Oh, the fact that there were no arguments, no verbal warfare, and I even heard Bret claim to be your friend two, maybe three times." I sat with my arms folded in front of me, no doubt a look of frustration on my face, and watched Jamie attempt to keep from laughing out loud.

"Preposterous," Buckley announced. "It was that blow on the head Little Bill gave you. You were imagining things."

"I hate to say it, but I have to agree with Dandy. You better have Doc Varner check you out and make sure you're alright while we're here in town." Bret cleared his throat and looked around the table. "Are we ready to go close this place down?"

Everyone nodded, and we made our way to the object that had caused this disturbance to begin with, the largest roulette wheel in the saloon. The (new) croupier gave it a spin and Jim watched it eagerly, pronouncing as soon as it had come to rest, "It's perfectly balanced."

We spent time gambling, then more time playing poker, and I finally announced I'd had enough and was ready for some sleep. In a bed. Jamie was ready to spend her last night in the hotel, and I offered my arm as an escort to her suite. It took me a minute to realize that Bret and Jim were still behind us, and I turned my head just in time to catch them doing something I never expected. Shaking hands and smiling at each other.

I waited until we were in bed and ready for sleep, and I knew that Bret would answer me truthfully just to get me to leave him alone. "Want to explain the handshake, Brother Bret?"

He coughed and kind of smirked at me. "You saw that, did you?"

"Yes, and I expect an honest answer."

"You take all the fun out of things."

There was nothing but silence for a minute or two and then I spoke up again. "I'm waiting."

"Remember when you went to Jamie's house the first time and Dandy asked to speak with me?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Dandy offered me a proposition, and I accepted it."

"What was the proposition?"

"Really?" Bret asked.

"What was the proposition?" I insisted.

There was a big sigh, followed by this small confession. "That we stop making each other's lives miserable until all this was over."

"Because?"

"Because the only thing our irritating each other did was make it harder on you."

My turn to sigh. Obviously the handshake had been the dissolving of the truce, and the resumption of attitudes as normal. I couldn't seem to win with those two, no matter what I did. But the proposition and its acceptance had pointed out something that I'd never realized quite this way before – I had a brother who loved me and a friend who cared enough about me to put aside their differences and get along with each other – for my sake. And that left me with hope. Hope that someday they'd stop arguing long enough to realize what I already knew – that deep down, they liked each other.

The End


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